


Assumptions Condemn Reality

by Syukotsuwolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, No Horcruxes, No Romance, Paranoid Dumbledore, Tags Contain Spoilers, They're only Nine Right Now, Traumatized Children, Twins, Twins who Actually Care about Each Other, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), don't worry they get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syukotsuwolf/pseuds/Syukotsuwolf
Summary: Aster remembers everything: every book he's ever read, every meal he's ever eaten, even that night when the scary man attacked. So why does everyone keep saying he's the Boy-Who-Lived? As the wrongfully-labelled savior, Aster struggles with the knowledge of living a lie & wanting to protect his twin Harry from those who wish to harm the real Boy-Who-Lived.AKA "Wrong, All Wrong" on FFnet
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	1. Another Morning Like the Rest

_Aster_

I didn’t want to get up today. Is it possible to sleep an entire day? I _must_ wake up though and be good.

“Aster… Aster honey, it’s time to wake up!” Mum was nice, knocking on my door and calling through the wood gently, but Mum always woke me up extra early on ‘Healer Hell’ days. It always made me cranky and tired the entire time on top of everything else bad about Healer Hell. It made it harder to be good.

After the third time Mum called through the door, I knew I needed to start making sounds like I was actually getting up or else—

“FAWNSTER!” Dad yelled as he burst through the door. Squinting through my sleepy eyes I could blurrily see Dad’s messy brown head bounce into my room. Today he bounced four times; was he nervous, or extra excited? “You know what time it is, my darling Fawny Boy!” He threw open one side of my curtains and tugged off my blanket in one smooth movement, letting a bright beam of sunlight flare straight down on my face.

I curled up away from the light and Dad’s tickling tentacles of doom he called hands. I hated being tickled – I knew his pattern by now (sides, neck, toes, repeat) but my body reacts on its own when I’m laughing so hard. “Heh heh – Daaa- HAHA! Dad! No- I’m, hah, awake! I’m AWAKE!” Lashing out with my feet I tried to kick the glasses off his grinning face, knowing he swerves to the left when he tickles my toes. Some mornings, if I succeeded, I’d win myself enough time to tug my blanket back over my head long enough for Mum to save me a few seconds earlier.

This morning was not a successful morning. Must be ‘Healer Hell’ bad luck.

As the tickle torture continued, Mum called out into the room, “James, must you _always_ traumatize your son awake?”

I tried to twist my way out of Dad’s grip, turning to the open doorway where Mum stood smiling at us. “Mum!” I reached out a hand from the edge of my bed, “please… haha… save me!” As much as I wish I could honestly ask for help with all the feelings of I-hate-this-I-hate-this in my voice, Dad and Mum love the tickling routine. It’s fun for them and ruining someone else’s fun was bad, and I was a good boy. I have to be good. So, I ‘jokingly’ flopped over the side of the bed to play dead like every other morning to the laughter of Mum and Dad instead.

Dad gave a couple finishing tickles before he ruffled my hair and set me free, heading out of the room to start cooking breakfast. As I slipped on my glasses I saw Dad kiss Mum on the cheek on his way out and Mum crossed an arm over her chest to grip her other arm, only giving a small smile in return. Nervous signs. Something’s different today if both Mum and Dad were nervous.

I crawled out of bed and gave Mum a quick hug good morning before heading over to my dresser. Mum took the chance to fix my bed while I got dressed. Most of my clothes were covered in red, gold, and roaring lions because Mum and Dad were Gryffindors in school. Those clothes were for fun, happy days and ‘Healer Hell’ days were _not_ fun, happy days so I went with a plain green and blue outfit.

Mum failed to hide her smile when she noticed my outfit, and I shoved my clothes drawer closed and stomped out of the room. It was _not_ funny! I am _not_ happy, so my clothes won’t be either! Mum thought it was funny, anyway, so she obviously wasn’t upset about my outfit. Which would have been bad and _not_ good at all. Mum said smart boys pick their own outfits, and being smart was good, so wearing this outfit was still ok even if I picked it because I was upset.

When I got to the kitchen Dad was already done cooking and pouring juice into our cups. I must have taken more time than usual to get dressed. Mum and I took our seats in the adjoining dining room and I was hit with the daily wash of emptiness at just the three of us sitting at the square dining table. I made sure not to stare at the fourth chair. Last time I did that Mum got a sad look on her face and only bad kids made their Mum sad.

I tried to not grumpily munch my way through Dad’s special deer-shaped pancakes because good boys respect food that’s cooked extra special for them, especially when it was rare for Dad to cook, but it was really hard when Dad only made the special ‘Deer Cakes’ because it was Healer Hell day. Dad’s Deer Cakes were only _really_ special on birthdays or holidays when Mum would charm them to prance around the table and you lured them to your plate with berries in order to actually eat them and it was easy to respect the food then.

All throughout breakfast Dad kept tapping the side of his plate and Mum sipped at her juice in-between bites. This would have been normal levels of nervous (though any level of nervous on a Healer Hell day made me extra nervous) if not for Dad only eating five bites of food and his periodic glances over at Mum.

I hid my sigh of relief behind my glass of juice when Mum finally asked Dad to ‘help her start on the dishes’ which was always code for talk-without-Aster-hearing.

The kitchen was behind my seat at the table, but the sound of water running told me Mum was at the sink and the clatter of the frying pan told me Dad was near the stove.

“James, what is it?” Mum whispered.

Looks like Dad ‘forgot’ to put up a Silencing Charm again. I’m glad Dad thought I was big enough to know what’s going on. Mum _always_ treats me like I’m too little for stuff. I grew another _two_ inches this year!

“Lily, Remus let me know he’s free to help take Aster to St. Mungo’s this time,” Dad mumbled. Uncle Moony’s coming? Awesome!

Mum let out a quick sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin. No one in their right minds would attack _both_ of them. Not on Ministry property.”

I barely had time to wonder what the Ministry had to do with people attacking me or Uncle Moony when Dad cut in, “It’s necessary since we’re using the main entrance this time.” What? No! This ‘Healer Hell’ day just keeps getting worse and worse.

“James, are you sure?” Glad to know Mum agrees with me. “I know Albus said, but… Aster is still so young…”

I peeked over at Mum and Dad to see Dad grab Mum’s shoulders, gently rubbing them. “I know, Lily, but Albus says it’s safe for Aster to be seen in public more often now. The public is demanding to know how he’s doing, too. His appointment schedule was leaked to the Prophet last week… We’ll at least have more than enough witnesses to help keep any attackers away. You know I’d rather none of this was necessary,” he declared, pulling Mum into a hug.

It was a good thing I was already done with breakfast; I felt sick. I hated it when Mum and Dad talked about that ‘Albus’ guy. It was always “Albus says Aster should do this”, and “Albus says Aster should do that”, and I’ve never ever met him. It was _his_ fault I had Healer Hell days and it was _his_ fault the table felt empty, and it was _his_ fault I had to—

A chiming sound rang out through the house and a soft woosh of air was heard from the living room nearby, signaling that someone just arrived through the Floo. The sound of a trench coat shaking off soot once, then a spell swishing along fabric told me exactly who was here.

I hopped off my chair, running over and yelling, “Uncle Moony!” as the sandy-haired man walked down the hallway toward the dining room. The one grown-up in my life who understood what I go through.

With practiced ease I jumped as Uncle Moony jogged over to catch me. “Hey there, bud!” he called out, swinging me around once before hugging me close. “Healer Hell day, huh?” he whispered in my ear, “Remember, it’s only Healer Hell _inside_ the hospital, and then _after_ your appointment we can have all the fun you want, ‘cause afterwards it’s—”

“Mungojerrie Day!” we both said together. Uncle Moony put me back on the ground and ruffled my hair, laughing as Dad groaned from the dining room.

“Moony!” Dad whined, “It’s not even a good pun!”

“Hush, you.” Mum swatted Dad on the arm as she came over to greet Uncle Moony. “I love that musical. We’re lucky Tuney got us tickets to the West End premiere as a wedding gift or we’d never have been able to go see it. Tuney says it’s going to go on _tour_ in May!”

I wonder if Mum and Dad have the same arguments over the same things in the same way on purpose. It’s eerie how they use almost the same exact words every time. Now, Dad was going to argue about Aunt Petunia and how—

“You know Petunia only got us those tickets because she thought it would be a waste of our time. Who ever thought a musical about _cats_ was going to be successful?”

Then Mum was going to cut in about how—

“Andrew Lloyd Webber is a _genius_ so _of course_ it was going to be successful! In any case, you _know_ theatre is one of the things I bond with Tuney over—”

“…after all those summer theatre camps.” Dad, Uncle Moony and I grinned at each other as we finished Mum’s sentence together.

A round of laughter filled the house as we all gathered ourselves for the main part of the day. On normal Healer Hell days Mum and Dad would just Floo with me to a special lobby at St. Mungo’s, with Uncle Moony sometimes coming with us and sometimes meeting us at the hospital after my appointment was done. Today I could tell was different, even if Dad didn’t let me listen to him tell Mum about the change in plans, I could tell how nervous everyone was.

After the laughter died down, Uncle Moony kept smoothing down his trench coat, Mum kept trying to fix my hair (you would think all the time she’s been with Dad would teach her that Potter hair was hopeless), and Dad kept pacing.

It was time for me to be the good, smart boy. “Mum, Dad, Uncle Moony… are we leaving yet? It’s almost…” I glanced over at the Hogwarts-shaped clock over on the corner table, “eight-thirty already! To be early is to be on time.”

Dad grinned and gave me a high-five. “Right you are, Fawnster! That’s my little Auror-in-Training.” It made Dad happy to hear me repeat stuff he’s said before, though only certain things, not everything, and not always exactly word-for-word. I learned the hard way that remembering the exact words Dad said about his boss one time and saying them out loud made Mum really angry and I wasn’t allowed to say it again. Dad was kind of freaked out too.

Uncle Moony came over and knelt in front of me. “Okay bud, today we’re not using the Floo to go to St. Mungo’s. We’re doing something new this time.” No kidding.

“We’re… Apparating?” I scrunched my nose up at the word. Apparating was the _worst_.

Uncle Moony laughed. “Yeah, I know, but it’ll be over soon. Your mum and dad will be going ahead, and we’ll be along right after them. After that, it’s just a short walk up to the hospital. Think you can handle that?”

I nodded, knowing that _not_ being able to handle it wouldn’t change how I still needed to go. Uncle Moony grabbed my hand and Mum gave me a quick hug.

“There will be other people outside, Aster, and I know it might be scary but be brave for me,” she said, cupping the side of my face with her hand. Her thumb lightly ran across my left cheek the way she always does when she remembers what the public calls me.

“It’s okay, Mum,” I replied, smiling back at her. “I’m just Aster, just me, even if everyone else thinks I’m something else.” Even if you, Dad, Uncle Moony… even if _Albus_ thinks I’m something else, too. I’m just Aster.

Mum smiled a soft smile and hugged me again. “Such a good boy,” she whispered into my hair.

A swift cold grasped my heart hearing Mum praise me. She always thinks the best of me, thinks I don’t like the attention of the public because I’m a good kid who doesn’t enjoy the fame the way a spoiled, bad kid would. She thinks I’m brave for going out there where people think I’m a survivor, a good luck charm, a miracle…

I’m none of those things.

Hugging Mum and looking at Dad and Uncle Moony over her shoulder I felt my heart tighten with fear. Even if I’m not what they think I am I don’t want them to know. I don’t want to leave; to be sent away for being bad and not being what they want me to be. It would hurt them to find out and I don’t want to hurt them.

Mum let me go and moved over to where Dad was waiting. “Time to go then.” She nodded over at Uncle Moony and looked over at Dad.

Dad and Mum took a deep breath together and popped away at the same time. Uncle Moony grabbed my hand and checked in one last time, “You good to go, bud?”

I nodded, and with a ‘crack’ we popped away.

* * *

_Harry_

No one else ever woke up early at the St. Martin’s Orphanage, and Harry always appreciated that fact. With everyone else asleep the world was quiet and peaceful, unlike the inevitable chaos over a dozen children stuck in an enclosed space could wreak under the exhausted supervision of too few adults.

No one else awake also meant no one was around to witness Harry leaving the grounds of the orphanage to head to the nearby shore. On an island like St. Martin’s, the air was pleasantly warm despite the early hour.

Harry stepped his way past hedges and between bushes, avoiding the view of neighboring homes with practiced ease. The neighbors were quite nice – Mr. Bickford two doors down had his own tripper boat he would let the orphanage borrow once a month and Mrs. Jenkins would bring her two tabby cats and her Golden Retriever to the orphanage every weekend for the kids to play with – but living on an island meant everyone knew everyone and Harry would rather avoid the tedium of listening to the orphanage housemother lecture him yet again on ‘wandering off at the crack of dawn’.

The crunch of gravel amidst grass underfoot and the taste of salt in the air told Harry he was close to his destination as he continued over the hilly terrain and away from the hedge-lined flower farms. Sloping down and into the sea was one of the island’s many coves, Wine Cove, which bordered the Great Bay.

Harry often pondered the convention of names: why Wine Cove was the ‘Wine’ Cove when as far as Harry could see, there were neither vineyards nor wine-colored waters, or how the Great Bay only seemed to be slightly larger than the Little Bay and thus earning its name by happenstance. In a similar fashion, Harry often wondered why he was just… Harry.

Harry shook his head to interrupt his current train of thought and climbed down from grassy hills to where the rocky cove met the bay. Tucked into the side of the rocky wall was a small plateau of stone filled with sea water – Harry’s destination.

Out here the waves were calm, barely moving unless a storm rolled in. Storms filled small pools like the one Harry stood in front of now, bringing plants and wildlife from the sea to the shore, but didn’t threaten these same pools again for most of the year. The new plants and wildlife broke up the monotony of Harry’s life and he cherished the mornings when he managed to find something he never saw before.

The rock pool was chest height for Harry and if he reached in, he could barely touch the bottom of it with his fingertips. A few tiny fish darted along the pool’s depths, swerving around a lounging starfish. Swimming along in a figure eight along the surface of the water was a gleaming blue serpent with bands of pearlescent scales that sparkled when the sun hit its scales. As he stepped up to the pool, he cast a shadow across the surface and the snake stopped swimming.

The blue and pearl snake swam over and coiled up on the shallow side of the pool, lifting its head up to look over at Harry. “ _Good morning, Young Speaker_ ,” it hissed to Harry.

Harry nodded and hissed back, “ _Good morning, Saphyr_.” He reached out and ran a finger along the back of Saphyr’s head and down the serpent’s neck. A wave of calm accompanied the touch, one of the reasons Harry dutifully visited the serpent daily. “ _Look how you’ve grown; you’re longer every time I see you Saphyr._ ”

“ _Is it not the elders who usually say such words among humans, Young Speaker?_ ” The snake replied, bumping its head against Harry’s finger to signal it was being humorous. “ _I was once as long as you are tall and merely require sustenance to restore my size._ ”

“ _Sustenance? Here? Do you need more fish?_ ” Glancing at the tiny fish in the pool, Harry wondered if he could find any others in another rock pool somewhere. The thought of Saphyr growing so long made the rock pool seem so small, too. _“And surely a pool this size is far too small then._ ”

Harry’s hands suddenly felt cold as he opened his mouth to say the words he prepared to say a month ago, yet delayed saying each day since then. Words that were for Saphyr’s good and hurt Harry to say, but he cared about not hurting the snake more. “ _Do you- do you need to go back in the ocean?_ ”

“ _Dearest Speaker_ ,” the serpent hissed, wrapping part of its length around Harry’s finger and hand, “ _you honor me with your worries. Fear not, water is simply necessary to soak my scales once each sunrise and I do not feast on flesh, Young Speaker_.”

As Saphyr wound its way around Harry’s hand he could feel his worries slip away and let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It was great to know he hadn’t kept the serpent stuck in a terrible situation the past few months. Saphyr’s tendency to primarily speak words filled with “S” sounds always amused Harry, too. Then, the last few words registered in Harry’s mind.

“ _What do you eat, then? How have you been growing?_ ”

Saphyr stared at Harry in the way non-blinking serpents do and appeared to hesitate. It started to loosen its hold on Harry’s hand before wrapping around his hand again and moved further up Harry’s arm.

The snake flicked its tongue along Harry’s wrist. “ _You are a smart human, Young Speaker, I trust you will ascertain my tastes eventually. For now, trust that I am well situated here._ ” Harry began to feel a warmth that felt like relief smoothing away his concerns. “ _How go your classes at the orphanage, child?_ ”

Glad to know Saphyr was safe staying in the rock pool for now, Harry fell back into the easy routine of telling the snake about the day before.

Yesterday was a science day for the orphanage as the housefather and housemother took turns teaching a different subject to the children each day. Each set of children around the same age would have their own age-appropriate activity for the day and spring was the time of year the children started taking care of plants for science days.

The youngest children got to play alphabet games naming various plants. Six and seven-year-olds would each plant a potato, the eight and nine-year-olds got strawberries, and the older children chose between planting a sunflower or helping take care of the lemon trees out behind the orphanage.

As Harry finished telling Saphyr how he planned to raise this year’s strawberry plant differently – last year his strawberries seemed too small – he felt the sun begin to shine on his face.

The serpent noticed as well, releasing Harry’s hand and slipping back into the rock pool. “ _Many thanks for visiting, Young Speaker,_ ” Saphyr hissed as it stretched and curved into a loose spiral in the water. “ _Know you are always welcome to share your fears and doubts with me._ ”

“ _Of course, Saphyr, thank you for always listening_.” No matter what happened the day before, these mornings with Saphyr never failed to restore a sense of calm in Harry and he felt better prepared to face the day for it. “ _I wish I could take you back with me._ ”

“ _It is not safe._ ” It was abnormally blunt for Saphyr. Usually it would insist it was not pet material. The snake explained, “ _Most humans fear serpents, especially venomous ones, yes? They will not hesitate to strike once I am noticed._ ”

Images and emotions flashed across Harry’s mind at Saphyr’s words.

_A shabby shack surrounded by tangled trees._

_A snake stabbed through with a dagger, pinned to the door._

_Pride, disgust, and rage._

_A bright flash of green._

Harry shook his head violently, gasping for breath as one hand clutched his chest and the other his head. What set him off this time? The thought of Saphyr getting hurt? Through the sound of his pounding heart, Harry could hear the serpent attempting to reassure him.

“ _Young Speaker, I apologize, I did not mean to upset you. I am safe here._ ” Saphyr reared up out of the water and nearly darted over to Harry but held back. “ _Go, it is nearly time for breakfast, child_.”

“ _It’s okay, Saphyr, it wasn’t you,_ ” Harry said, fighting against the lingering anger in his body, “ _it’s—I’ll explain tomorrow, you’re right I need to go_.”

Harry jogged his way back to the orphanage, knowing exercise relieved the tension that strangled his body after a ‘Memory Moment’. He barely noticed the scenery changing as he sped by. Frustration filled Harry’s mind at the realization that the Memory Moment erased any semblance of calm he felt from talking to Saphyr.

Near the back of the orphanage was a section of the building that collapsed decades ago, and the orphanage never spent the money needed to renovate it. Around the same time it collapsed the number of orphans around the country was declining, apparently, and the local government failed to see the need to spend money fixing rooms that wouldn’t be used again as long as the rest of the building was still safe to use.

The situation suited Harry well as it provided him an easy way in and out of the building without walking past the houseparents’ rooms.

In the rubble-covered entrance of what the orphans called the ‘Abandoned Hallway’ was a young girl, her blonde hair up in pigtails. A bright blue ribbon wrapped diagonally around the side of her face including her right eye and ended in a bow around her left pigtail.

“Sally, you’re awake,” Harry greeted and gave the girl a hug, glad she woke up and waited for him. The last vestiges of frustration and anger faded away and he was calm again. Leaning his head against hers, he noticed he was still only slightly taller than her, even though she was already short. Someday he’ll gain some height, he’s sure of it.

Sally giggled and shook her head, one of her pigtails tickling his nose. “I can wake up jus’ fine without ‘cha, Harry.”

“You’re right,” he said as he smoothed down her bangs and tightened the bow in her hair. “It’s the sleeping you don’t do enough of.”

She stepped out of his hug and pushed his chest lightly. “Stop actin’ like Housefather Frost or somethin’, yer only nine! I’m older’n you ‘n all, too.”

Harry laughed as they started walking further into the orphanage to head to breakfast. “We still don’t know my birthday, Sally, you’re nine, too.”

“I was born in Febroo- Febyoo-” she sighed gustily and continued, “the second month of the year! I’m older.” Harry smiled as Sally spoke evenly and properly at the end there. Every day she affected some sort of accent, proclaiming that she was raised ‘all proper like’ but that it didn’t matter anymore so she would talk however she wanted to now.

Harry didn’t know whether to be relieved or envious of the fact that Sally knew the world that abandoned her, knew what she was now rebelling against. He knew this island and nothing else. He existed through the daily routine of breakfast, class, playtime, lunch, chores, and dinner with the blandness of monotony punctuated by seemingly random visions that filled him with panic and rage. Then Sally arrived at the orphanage and added friendship to his days. Then he added visiting the rock pool and talking to Saphyr and added catharsis to his mornings. His routine started to feel like something he could call living.

He wondered how his routine would change again. Something would happen soon.

He could feel it in his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that I have never personally been to the Isles of Scilly. Everything written here is a product of extensive research *cough* Google *cough* and my own imagination. 
> 
> Saphyr looks like a blue-lipped sea krait except the usual bands of black scales look like scales of abalone shell instead. 
> 
> Additionally, if any of you are from FFnet and somehow stumbled across the earlier incarnation of this work ("Wrong, All Wrong") years and years ago (literally over a decade ago), thank you for finding this again and sincere apologies. It took too many years for me to realize I wasn't updating my fic because I was dissatisfied with how I started it and I have my lovely partner to thank for inspiring me to completely rewrite the story. I missed Aster, Harry, Saphyr, this whole universe and I'm so excited to dive back in.


	2. Entangled in Forget-Me-Not's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to have every chapter include Aster and Harry segments but Aster really wanted to live out this whole chapter uninterrupted. Harry will get his own chapter, never you fear! Thanks again for reading and the kudos!

_Aster_

Uncle Moony and I appeared in the usual alleyway around the corner from St. Mungo’s. At the mouth of the alley I could see bright orange cones Mum said Muggles use to tell people not to go somewhere. Dad was standing on the other side of the cones with his arms crossed over his chest as lights flashed from the direction of St. Mungo’s.

Uncle Moony swore. “The reporters must have gotten permission to put up Notice-Me-Not wards for the day.” He adjusted his hold on me so that he held me in one arm and could freely use his wand arm. He started moving to where Dad was.

“You remember what your parents said about reporters, bud?”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around Uncle Moony’s neck and tucked my face there too. “Always have you, Mum, or Dad with me if a reporter wants to go somewhere private. Only say something if I want everyone to know it. It’s better to say I don’t know than make something up.” Mum and Dad said many, many other things about reporters too but I was pretty sure Uncle Moony would be upset if I repeated _those_ words.

“Good job, bud,” Uncle Moony said as he ruffled my hair. “That’s all good but also know that if you don’t want to say anything, anything at all, it’s okay to stay silent.”

Over at the mouth of the alley, Dad noticed us and called for us to head over. Over Uncle Moony’s shoulder I saw the flashes of light increase in number as they reflected off wet stones in the alley. Once we reached Dad, he took his place behind Uncle Moony and gave me a grin before focusing on our surroundings.

I lifted my head to take a quick peek out in front and immediately went back to hiding my face in Uncle Moony’s shoulder. This is officially the _worst_ Healer Hell day ever and I’m not even inside Healer Hell yet!

In that instant where I lifted my head, I saw a terrifying crush of people all staring my way. Mum was out front with a Shield Charm keeping everyone a safe distance away, but it didn’t stop people from seeing me. The previously low murmur of the crowd suddenly shot up as dozens of voices started yelling. Uncle Moony started walking forward behind Mum, Dad behind us, and we all did our best to ignore the yelling.

“Aster! Aster Potter! Look here!”

“Mr. Potter! How does it feel to be the only known survivor of the Killing Curse?”

“Mr. Boy-Who-Lived! Look this way!”

“Yo, Darkin! D’you think the Boy-Who-Lived will cure you?”

The slight tightening of the arm around me and the sound of teeth grinding for a second were the only signs that Uncle Moony reacted to the question. Was the person talking about Uncle Moony being a werewolf? What did ‘Darkin’ mean? I knew Uncle Moony was a famous werewolf since he was little – he was the one who taught Mum and Dad all kinds of stuff about reporters and what they are and are not allowed to do with children after all. Was ‘Darkin’ his title like mine was the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’?

Caught up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice we reached the Muggle department store that camouflaged St. Mungo’s until Mum knocked on the glass. A mannequin missing an arm and wearing a weird bright green scarf over a yellow dress turned its head toward Mum. A mechanical voice said, “Welcome to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. How may I help you?”

“Potter family accompanied by Remus J. Lupin for an appointment for Aster L. Potter with Healer Morris,” Mum announced, and raised her wand to tap the glass in front of the mannequin.

The mannequin nodded at Mum and turned to the rest of us. “Please have all adults tap the glass for identification purposes. Any underaged witches and wizards must be in physical contact with an identified adult in order to enter. Welcome.”

Uncle Moony quickly tapped on the glass after Mum and moved over so Dad had space to walk up.

Dad stepped forward and raised his wand to tap on the glass. Everyone behind us was so loud! I wondered if they ever got tired of asking questions even when no one was answering them. For the first time ever, I _wanted_ to get inside Healer Hell as fast as possible. I was trying so hard to block everything out, I was startled when Uncle Moony’s wand arm was abruptly tugged backwards.

“Please, sir! It’s my child!” A woman cried out, hanging on to Uncle Moony’s arm.

The woman reached an arm out to me. “Please, visit my child inside! Her… her name is Jasmine! Jasmine Williams.” The hand holding onto Uncle Moony started to shake as she pleaded to me. “Please, just a single touch – I’m _sure_ it’ll help! That it can cure her! Please, just try!”

I stared into the eyes of this crying woman, distantly aware of Uncle Moony whispering to me that everything was okay, and I could ignore her. Dad was yelling at the woman to let go of Uncle Moony and I couldn’t see Mum anywhere.

Staring into the woman’s eyes, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection staring back at me. I saw my mismatched eyes, the right one green and the left one golden, and saw the sunburst of scars surrounding my golden eye that Mum like to call flower petals. The image of another pair of mismatched eyes flashed across my mind and I flinched, tucking my head back into Uncle Moony’s shoulder.

“I… I can’t… I’m not…” My body started to shake as I sobbed into Uncle Moony’s shoulder. I wished I could help that poor lady and her daughter, but I _can’t_. I’m not the Boy-Who-Lived! If I tried and I failed would Mum and Dad find out I was a fake? That they were wrong that night?

Over the sound of my rapid breaths I heard Uncle Moony and Dad finally get the woman to let go and felt the tingle of magic that meant we got inside the hospital.

All of a sudden, I was curled up in Mum’s arms. “Aster, Aster honey, I need you to take a deep breath—In… out… yes, that’s it dear.” Nearby Dad was holding a small vial while Mum got me to breathe. She took the vial from him and handed it to me. “Here Aster,” she said, wrapping her hand around my hand and the vial, “drink this and you’ll feel better, promise.”

The potion tasted terrible and felt slimy slipping down my throat and Dad chuckled when I scrunched my face up in disgust. An immediate wave of calm pushed all my panic to the back of my mind. I wouldn’t forget, though. I never forget. Mum called me brave all the time and it was time to finally _be_ brave. I needed to fix this; make things right so the _real_ Boy-Who-Lived could actually be here and save people. I loved Mum, Dad, and Uncle Moony but this was _wrong,_ and I needed to fix it.

As I was calming down, I saw an assistant Healer talking with Uncle Moony.

“I’m terribly sorry about Mrs. Williams,” the assistant Healer said, their hands gripping their clipboard so hard I thought it would break. “Her daughter, Jasmine, contracted a particularly terrible strain of Spattergroit at just four years old…” Uncle Moony held up a hand to try and stop the waterfall of words but the assistant Healer babbled on, “It’s extremely rare for young witches and wizards to contract Spattergroit in general…” The assistant Healer glanced over at me then said, “I sincerely hope you won’t hold this against her.”

Uncle Moony thanked the assistant Healer and reassured them that we weren’t upset at Mrs. Williams. After that we quickly fled into the lift to truly begin the journey into the depths of Healer Hell.

All too soon we reached Healer Morris’ office.

Dad and Uncle Moony ruffled my hair and reminded me that they would all be here when I was done. Mum knelt down and hugged me. “I can go in with you, Aster dear, you know that, right?”

I hugged her back and said, “Yeah, Mum, I know. It’s okay, it’s all boring stuff. I’ll be fine.” Every appointment was scary and weird, and I hated all of their tests, but I didn’t want Mum, Dad, or Uncle Moony to be there if some test figured out I wasn’t the Wizarding World’s miracle child. I mean, it wasn’t like the Healers would keep it a secret… I just… I needed to know first that they were about to find out.

Mum stood up and tried to smooth down my hair one last time. “My brave boy,” she murmured, before stepping back where Dad and Uncle Moony were. “Go on, Healer Morris is waiting.”

The inside of Healer Morris’ office was so empty every time I went in, I wondered if he moved out and was replaced by someone else. The sight of his one blue journal of notes on the desk was usually what told me Healer Morris was still here, which both made me feel better and worse at the same time. I knew what to expect if Healer Morris was still here, but I didn’t like him. I didn’t like him at all.

The door at the back of the office opened and Healer Morris stepped inside.

“Ah, Aster Potter, punctual as usual.” Healer Morris gestured toward the chair in front of his desk and said, “You may sit,” as if he didn’t time his entrance into the office every time so that he could tell me that. As if I were waiting for his permission to sit down.

I sat down in the chair anyway, knowing it was better to sit through the tests than stand the whole time.

Healer Morris opened his blue journal and set a quill on top of it. Like every appointment, he waved his wand over the quill and it jumped to life and began scratching notes into the journal. It would start with the date and time of the appointment, and the “subject”, Aster Lyle Potter.

With a wave of his wand, Healer Morris began looking over my “physical variables” as he called them and muttered to the quill as he noted my height, weight, even average length of hair strand all without talking directly to me. Healer Morris never talked to me unless he had a specific question that needed answering.

I tried to ask what the point of some of his measurements were, once, and Healer Morris proclaimed I interrupted his “internal flow of calculations”, then started taking my measurements all over again. I never tried to ask what he was doing again.

He had very strong opinions on keeping his research secret unless he reached an “undeniable, justifiable conclusion” which helped me know that Healer Morris wouldn’t tell anyone that I wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived unless he knew absolutely for certain that I wasn’t.

The quill paused in its scratching and let me know Healer Morris was done looking over my numbers for now. The man conjured up some pieces of paper, a box of crayons, and a clipboard. Mum liked that my healer was a halfblood who was willing to use Muggle items in his practice. I thought my healer acted like those purebloods who didn’t let their house-elves speak unless spoken to, but woo, he lets me draw with crayons. Awesome.

Healer Morris handed me the conjured items and asked, “Do you remember the painting I showed you last month, child?”

“Yes, Healer Morris.” It was a still painting of a crup chasing its two-forked tail while a black kneazle stole its steak dinner. That was the day I learned that cats and kneazles ate meat and that milk was bad for them.

The healer gestured to the box of crayons. “Recreate the painting as accurately as possible. I will use the time while you are working to run some diagnostics on your magical growth.”

Well, that was easy. Way easier and more straightforward than most things Healer Morris usually asked me to do. Once he fed a live mouse to a snake in front of me and told me to try and describe the mouse’s last thoughts and feelings before it was eaten. Another time he put a box in front of me and had me try and guess what enchantments were on the box and what those enchantments made me feel emotionally.

I began drawing the painting on the piece of paper in front of me and quickly got annoyed. Only a few of the crayons in the box matched the colors in the painting. I knew blue and yellow made green, but not how to make different _kinds_ of green! I decided to at least get the kneazle out of the way because black fur and yellow eyes was easy. I could remember the painting exactly, anyway, so it felt more like tracing and coloring between the lines than “recreating” the painting. Was that cheating? I couldn’t help it if I remembered it so well… Healer Morris didn’t give me the painting to look at again, anyway, so I _had_ to go off memory, he couldn’t blame me.

After some time, I finished the recreated painting as best as I could with my very limited box of crayon colors. I glared at the box before sliding the paper I colored on over to Healer Morris’ desk. “It’s not perfect,” I said, now nervous that I failed some test, “the crayons weren’t all the right colors and they were so fat I—”

“Did you know what creatures were in the painting the first time you saw it?” Healer Morris’ question cut my panic short and filled me with confusion. Was the drawing not the test?

I glanced back down at the picture of the crup and the kneazle. “Not the first time,” I admitted. “I knew what a kneazle was, but at first I thought the dog was just a Muggle dog and the tail looked like that because the painting wasn’t Charmed, and the painter wanted to show that the tail was moving.”

Healer Morris crossed his fingers in front of his face and nodded slowly at me. “I see,” he murmured. Whenever Healer Morris said that he was thinking deeply, and I knew not to interrupt.

He pulled his blue journal over and watched the quill scratch a few more notes down before he turned back to me. “You recognize what the canine is now?” he asked.

I nodded. “Well, I was thinking about it one time and thought if the kneazle wasn’t just a cat, then maybe the dog wasn’t just a dog, so I asked Mum about it and she told me that a crup _looks_ like a normal dog but has a tail with two ends like the one in the painting, so...” With a jolt I realized I was babbling and ended with, “So… it’s a crup, right, Healer Morris?”

“Indeed.” When he said nothing else, I knew Healer Morris was thinking again and saw him look back over his blue journal.

The healer wouldn’t speak again until he figured out whatever it was he was thinking about so I grabbed the box of crayons and started drawing again on one of the other blank sheets of paper. Drawing the crup and kneazle painting reminded me of a scruffy crup plushie I used to play with when I was learning to walk. I would hold the two tips of the tail like a handle and push the toy in front of me while I waddled around the house. It’s name was Snuffles. Mum cried the first time she saw me do that because the plushie was a present from…

I flinched and scratched a thick line across the corner of the paper.

Healer Morris looked up from his journal and saw that I drew something else. “Let me see that, child,” he said, and held out his hand.

After I handed over the paper, I wondered what was so interesting about a picture of an old toy.

Healer Morris tapped his fingers on the plushie drawing and then waved his wand at the floating quill. The quill dropped down onto the desk and the blue journal snapped shut. He usually only did that when the appointment was over. Did an hour pass by already?

Without another word, Healer Morris stepped out of the office and then returned with Mum.

Mum immediately went to my side. “Aster honey, is everything all right? Did you ask for me?”

Before I could respond, Healer Morris cut in, “Rest assured, Mrs. Potter, I have brought you in purely due to protocol; there is no emergency.”

If that was supposed to make us feel better, it failed. Mum frowned and put her hands on my shoulders while I fidgeted with the crayons.

Healer Morris sat back at his desk and conjured another chair for Mum. “It was agreed when I was assigned to Aster Potter’s case that I would disclose any… significant findings to at least one guardian at the time of realization. It is known that I, and any self-respecting scholar, would not share a hypothesis until it transforms into a well-substantiated theory.”

“I understand, Healer Morris,” Mum said in a calm voice and remained standing, her tight grip on my shoulders betraying her nerves, “however any information that keeps us informed will help set our minds at ease regarding any… consequences for what Aster went through.” Mum was using that voice again that meant she was trying to talk the way the other person wanted to talk. She did it with Aunt Petunia all the time.

The healer smiled. “This is why I chose you to speak to, Mrs. Potter, you understand the importance of knowledge and how to handle knowledge appropriately.” Most of the time when adults talked like I wasn’t there it was annoying, but with Healer Morris it was okay because it meant I got to learn what was going on.

“Today I tasked the child with recreating a painting I showed him last month.” Healer Morris handed Mum my drawing of the crup and kneazle painting. “This is what he produced with a box of crayons in thirty-eight minutes.”

Mum dropped down into the chair next to me and held my right hand in one hand, my drawing in the other. “Aster drew this?” she asked, and then narrowed her eyes at Healer Morris. “I thought photographic memory was a myth.” What? There was something weird about my memory? I mean, Mum always said I was smart, but I thought being smart meant being able to remember things better.

“You are partially correct,” Healer Morris said. “True photographic memory has never been recorded in either Muggle and Magical medical history to date. Even with a Pensieve, memories contain gaps and even falsehoods depending on the mental state of the memory-holder.” I wondered if this was what normal school felt like, with someone sharing information and the rest of us sitting and listening quietly. Healer Morris opened his blue journal and flipped through the pages as he continued, “Even eidetic memory was positively noted among a number of children over the years, however the children’s cognitive abilities appear to naturally diminish by adulthood to only slightly above average performance.”

“So, Aster has eidetic memory, but it’ll go away when he’s older?” Mum asked, her grip on my hand loosening slightly. “Aster’s not… damaged anywhere? He’s healthy?”

“That is not what I said. Aster Potter does exhibit all the signs of a normal nine-year old magical child,” the healer began, and Mum opened her mouth to say something when Healer Morris continued, “ _except_ for his extraordinary memory and distinct lack of accidental magic outbursts.”

Was I supposed to be bursting out magic sometimes? Wouldn’t that break things? Isn’t that bad? I looked over at Mum, completely confused. She looked like she was struggling with what to say next, but Healer Morris seemed content to keep talking on his own.

“As of now, the child’s delay in accidental magic is still within low normal estimates. However, I have something else I must confirm with you.” At that, he held out my drawing of Snuffles, the crup plushie. “Do you recognize this toy, Mrs. Potter?”

My drawing of the painting fell to the floor when Mum grabbed the plushie drawing out of Healer Morris’ hand. The paper shook as she held it, and for the first time in my life I heard Mum stutter. “This… this is… we threw this out years ago! It hasn’t been in the house since… since Aster learned to walk!” Did Mum expect me to not remember Snuffles? I used to carry it around every day! How could I forget it?

Hearing Mum’s words, Healer Morris face stretched into the smile that meant some thought he had was proven right. “This is where I am contractually obligated to mention this possibility, Mrs. Potter, however with the relevant information provided, I believe Aster Potter may have magically-assisted perfect memory.” Mum gasped but the healer barely paused to take a breath himself. “Logic follows that after a sufficiently traumatic experience, the child’s magic may have attempted to interfere with the psychological processing of the event and inadvertently enhanced all related cognitive functions. Eidetic memory still requires visual stimuli, is contained to recent memories, and said memories do not adapt according to newly acquired knowledge. These restrictions do not apply to Aster Potter.”

Mum’s grip on me was painfully tight now. “ _Perfect_ memory? You don’t think… he wouldn’t remember _that night_ , would he?” she whispered, as if lowering her voice would make a difference when I was sitting right next to her.

Of course I remembered that night! It was the start of everything: my eyes, my scars, my lies… Maybe everything was all upside down because everyone else forgot. If I was the one with perfect memory and people with normal memories forgot things like that, maybe that’s why they all made a mistake and said I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. They didn’t know enough when they said it the first time and then they forgot they didn’t know. Maybe I was the only one left who knew the truth.

_I was crying when the bright green flash of light struck the baby who looked just like me. My twin, my brother… Harry._

_The moment the spell hit him I felt a sharp pain deep inside me. My screams filled the room as I watched my brother’s body fall over backwards on his side of the crib. Something between us strained, then snapped, and for a moment it felt like Harry was **fading away** and it wasn’t right, it wasn’t **fair**! Why him? _

_Outside the crib, a man in robes pointed his wand at his own chest and a shining light of **something** floated out. The light started floating toward Harry._

_No! I would **not**_ _let him touch Harry again! Harry would be okay – he was just sleeping, that’s why I couldn’t feel him; but he’d wake up, I knew it. I’d **make sure** Harry woke up. The robed man needed to **go away** and **LEAVE US ALONE**!_

_Suddenly a wave of **something** spread through the room and the robed man fell to his knees. His screams joined mine and the floating light exploded into a blinding force. _

Out of all of the memories I could remember, that was my earliest memory and the only memory that was fuzzy.

The pain of Mum gripping my hand too tight reminded me that I was still in Healer Morris’ office. “Mum…” I tugged on my hand and tried to get her to let go, “Mum, it hurts.”

Her hand immediately let go and she turned her head toward me so quickly I worried her neck hurt. “Oh, Aster, I’m so sorry!” We locked eyes and it surprised me to see tears gathering in Mum’s eyes. “I know it might be scary, but I need you to be honest with me dear.” She looked down at my hand and stroked it gently before asking, “Do you remember the night we told you about? When the bad man attacked you? Do you… can you remember it like this painting you drew for Healer Morris?”

Mum’s hands started to shake. She didn’t want me to remember, and I didn’t want to upset her even more. Lying was bad, though.

Down on the floor I saw my drawing of the painting. If I had all the crayon colors in the world, I could draw the painting exactly like the real one. I knew I could. My memory of that night, though…

“No,” I whispered, and then Mum’s eyes were locked on mine again. It looked like she wasn’t breathing as she waited for my next words, “not like the painting. I can remember the painting really well, but when I was really little? It’s… fuzzy? There was a… green light?” Mum _and_ Healer Morris flinched and suddenly my body felt really cold and my face felt way too hot. If I said more, they would find out. They would know I wasn’t the one hit by the Killing Curse. They would know my title as the Boy-Who-Lived was a lie. I didn’t want them to send me away; I didn’t mean to lie!

Mum noticed when I started to take quick breaths and wrapped me in a hug. “Shh, it’s all right, Aster, honey, it’s okay, I’m sorry.” She massaged my head through my messy black hair and kept whispering, “The bad man is gone now, you’re safe, I’m here.”

My head was filled with the sound of my breathing and my heart bounding as Mum held me tight and picked me up. Somewhere I could barely hear Mum tell Healer Morris she was taking me home now.

Outside the office, Dad and Uncle Moony tried to ask what happened but Mum didn’t say anything as we left the hospital. I kept my face buried in Mum’s shoulder and remembered being carried like this by Uncle Moony just this morning. I remembered Mrs. Williams and her sick daughter, Jasmine.

I should have told the truth. The world needed the real Boy-Who-Lived. Even if I lost my family, it was better for everyone if they had the real miracle child and not a fake.

The world needed Harry, not me.


	3. The Un/Familiar

_Harry_

Sally and Harry walked past the hallway with the bedrooms and out into the main room. Two long tables were set out with children of various ages already sitting and eating breakfast. The orphanage housemother was travelling to and from the nearby kitchen with the last few platters of breakfast items.

A brown-haired boy noticed Sally and Harry arrive and waved them over. “Sally! Harry! Saved you seats over here! Got your dixon-urry too!” A thick book was on the table between two empty plates next to the boy.

“No yelling at the table, Brian,” the housemother commented to the brown-haired boy as she placed the last platter of eggs on the table. She turned and smiled at Harry and Sally as they sat down at the table. “Good morning you two.”

Next to him, Sally stiffened and didn’t meet the housemother’s gaze. Instead, Sally turned to Brian and stole a sausage off his plate. “It’s dik-shun-air-ee, dumbo! How long ‘er ya gonna get it wrong?”

The housemother’s smile faded slightly, and Harry quickly smiled back at her. “Good morning, Housemother Johnson, the food looks great. Full English breakfast today? Is there a special occasion?”

“Mrs. Jenkins’ cats had kittens!” Various children piped up around the room.

Over at the far corner of the other table, Housefather Frost spoke up, “Mrs. Jenkins said you kids helped her two grumpy cats become friends and decided to thank you all with a special breakfast. We’ll make thank you cards during chore time today.”

Housemother Johnson ruffled Harry’s hair in a silent gesture of thanks before she headed over to sit with Housefather Frost. Sally immediately relaxed and started filling up both her and Harry’s plates. She nudged the thick book on the table with her elbow and asked, “What words are ya gonna teach me today, Harry?”

Harry flipped open the dictionary and rolled his eyes at the blonde girl. “It cannot be called ‘teaching’ if you never learn anything, Sally.” Some of the older kids at the table laughed and started poking fun at Sally. They quizzed her on different words Harry read aloud for her at breakfast before and either took away or gave her extra pieces of bacon or fruit based on her answers.

It was great to see Sally and the older kids joking like that. Before Sally arrived at the orphanage two years ago, the other kids found it odd that Harry liked reading the dictionary and spoke using ‘big grown-up words’ and often got upset over it. It still confused him how anyone saw these actions as condescending or elitist. (Of course, the children actually said, “You think you’re better than us, huh?” or “Guess you don’t want to spend time with us dumb kids” instead of the words “condescending” or “elitist”.) The mean-spirited comments inspired rage-filled Memory Moments half of the time, and confused bouts of loneliness the other half back then.

Then Sally joined the orphanage and turned Harry’s vocabulary into a game and took the teasing onto herself. He was surprised by how she was the only one who figured out that when Harry used elevated language it was often on accident; he honestly did not know the definition of some of the words he said day-to-day. The words just _sounded right_ when he said them, and only caught himself using a complicated word a fraction of the time. Sally decided on her own to start pointing out Harry’s ‘big grown-up words’ whenever he used them, and Harry would pretend to be annoyed and find the definition for her and, secretly, for himself as well.

Sometimes he wondered why she helped. Why she cared.

Then he stopped thinking about it, too scared of the thought that confronting her about it would make her stop.

He turned through the “A” section of the dictionary as he looked for the word Saphyr used earlier that morning, as usual trying to guess the spelling of the word based off of how it sounded. In the latter half of the “A” section, Harry found the word he was looking for.

> **Ascertain** : as-cer-tain, asərˈtān. _Verb_ ; to find (something) out for certain; make sure of.

It bothered Harry every time he found a definition that included part of the original word in it. Luckily, he already knew what ‘certain’ meant. He ran a hand down the page of the tome and wondered at the mix of feelings he felt every time he looked through the dictionary. Somehow, looking through the hundreds of words felt intimidating and nostalgic at the same time; as if it was both the first and the thousandth time Harry was reading each page.

He knew it must have something to do with his Memory Moments, but thankfully reading the dictionary fell under the category of positive reactions rather than the panic-inducing reactions.

“Okay, Harry,” he jerked at the sound of Sally’s voice loudly calling directly into his ear, “food time!” She nudged the book with a plate full of breakfast foods and Harry obediently closed it. The last time Harry insisted on looking up one more word Sally threatened to spill orange juice on the dictionary.

When breakfast ended, everyone helped clean up the table to make room for class time. Housefather Frost ushered the youngest kids to their play corner out of the way while any kid old enough helped separate leftovers, wash dishes, or wipe down the table. Harry enjoyed helping separate the leftovers into what went into the compost bin and what to donate to the local farms as it was more of an educational experience compared to washing dishes.

Learning new information was great because he could tell when he was learning something _completely_ new - no nostalgia, no panic, just a bright sense of new. A burst of energy accompanied learning something new. It filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction and pride that the Memories did not know _everything_ and Harry found out something on his own.

It felt like winning.

Harry wished he knew who he was playing against.

Sally helped Harry take the separated bags of leftovers outside to the compost and farm donation bins. One of the neighbors would collect the food from the donation bin after each mealtime to portion out for the local livestock to eat.

Taking advantage of a rare moment of privacy, Harry nudged Sally with his shoulder and asked, "You ok?"

The blonde girl tugged lightly on one of her pigtails as she frowned. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, roughly shoving a bag of food into the donation bin. "It's daft, I know... Housemother's jus' tryin' to be nice."

"She's a grown-up," Harry replied while carefully distributing the leftovers for the compost into the proper bin.

Sally's frown twisted and she slammed the donation bin shut. With a sigh, Harry concluded today was not the day he learned why adults unnerved his friend. It didn't stop him from trying to console his friend, though. "It's not your fault someone else hurt you, Sally. Grown-ups can be intimidating in general, anyway."

"There you go with them big words again Harry," Sally said as she laughed and turned away. "At least I've heard that one before." She walked back into the orphanage. As she left, Harry caught how Sally's ribbon shifted slightly on her face, revealing a hint of the scarred crater where her right eye should be. Idly, he touched the scar on his own face, aware that it was likely why Sally befriended him in the first place.

Other orphans at St Martin's Orphanage had 'unique appearances' as Housefather Frost put it. Harry assumed it was a result of the orphanage being on an island that was also a frequent tourist stop. People who wished to hide away a scarred, disfigured, or otherwise disabled child could 'go on vacation' then leave the child behind. Many of the orphans were left on one of the island's many beaches, including Sally.

Harry knew he was one of three orphans ever left at St Martin's as a baby. Was his appearance so abhorrent? How was a mere toddler a source of shame to be discarded? Would it be better or worse if his parents were dead and there was no one else to take him in?

The soft chatter of the orphans inside the main room brought Harry out of his morbid thoughts. A rolling chalkboard was in front of the two tables and announced today was a Reading Day.

Reading Day meant each child could pick their own book to read, as long as they finished the book eventually. The houseparents would make sure the reading was appropriate for the orphan's level. Every month or so Housefather Frost assigned writing assignments to the older kids on what they read so far in their respective books and Housemother Johnson had the younger children try and draw something from a story.

With only so many books available at a time, no one complained when Harry elected to stick to reading the dictionary for the day. He could continue reading the chapter book about Scruffles the Canine Detective another time.

On the other side of the room, Sally was reading out loud to a few of the younger children from a collection of folk and fairy tales. She smiled brightest when the little ones laughed, gasped, and hung on to her retellings.

Harry was in the middle of trying to find the definition of 'situated' when Brian wandered over to where Harry was sitting. The other boy's face was deep in a book about the ocean.

"Hey Harry, lemme look at that real quick," Brian said before he blindly took the dictionary out of Harry's hands.

Harry looked up, startled to see Brian standing with the dictionary held above him and his vision blurred.

_A light-haired boy held a book teasingly out of reach with a sneer on his face._

_A rabbit floated up towards decaying rafters._

_A wardrobe caught on fire._

Before he was fully conscious of doing so, Harry was on his feet and grabbed the dictionary back from Brian, growling, "Give it **back!** " 

The brown-haired boy stumbled back, hands up in surrender, and suddenly Harry was aware of wide eyes staring at him from all over the room. He sprinted away, dictionary clutched in his arms, and heard Sally yell, "Brian! Can't you ask all polite and proper just once?"

Harry's lungs burned from running so fast, his face burned with embarrassment, and his heart burned with indignant rage. After a rush of scenery flew by, he found himself huddled in a corner of the abandoned hallway hugging the dictionary to his chest and breathing rapidly.

He lifted his arms to throw the thick book and something inside him resisted the thought of harming it. Which was utterly daft. It wasn't _his_ book, no matter how much just thinking that angered him. He didn't mean to be so rude to Brian, he just reacted. No one would really know that, though, and then he'd be labeled a bully, and then even the other orphans wouldn't want him here, but the other boy _stole_ from him...!

Suddenly Sally was there hugging him, and a choked sob erupted from Harry's throat. She always knew where to find him when he got like this.

At first, he thought any physical contact while he was panicking would make things worse. It was only during his first hug from Sally - during the one and only time she set off a Memory Moment - that Harry felt that same bright feeling when he learned something new. _Hugs_ were new, at least to the Memories, and that thought brought tears to Harry's eyes every time.

He didn't know how much time passed while Sally silently hugged him. He liked how she never asked him to outright explain, which is why he did the same for her. His breaths evened out and then the tears stopped. He finally loosened his grip on the dictionary.

He stared at the book in his lap as he leaned into Sally's embrace. "It's not my book," he whispered weakly, "I shouldn't have-"

"Brian knows better, it ain't your fault, Harry," Sally cut in. "Housemother Johnson been tellin' him not to snatch stuff from people and there's - what's that word you used last time? - Ah, consequences."

Harry gave a startled laugh. "You remembered." That was from a particularly bad Memory Moment about a week ago, when the rage actually took over. He barely remembered what set him off that time, only that he spouted off a string of angry words he later privately swore to never follow through with.

It was a testament to the ragtag variety of orphans with their own levels of issues at the orphanage that no one took his angry words too seriously.

“It ain’t your fault, Harry,” Sally repeated, leaning back out of their hug. “Jus’ like you told me it ain’t my fault grown-ups...” she paused before shaking her head and continuing, “scare me. Other people did that to me, and we just gotta keep goin’ n’ try not to hurt our friends on the way, yeah?”

Harry nodded, and he knew he would remember that Sally mentioned multiple people and not just one specific adult. Something else she said stuck out to him, though. “You think Brian thinks I’m his friend?”

“Of course,” the blonde quickly replied, grinning. “Saves us seats every mornin’ right?” Sally gently helped Harry to his feet. "Come on, we're gonna miss all of Free Time if we stick 'round here too long. Brian wants to say sorry to you, too."

The walk back to the main room was uneventful save for them walking past a few of the orphans heading into the bedrooms.

After class was Free Time and was everyone’s favorite time at the orphanage. It was exactly what it sounded like: a section of the day that the orphans were allowed to spend however they wished. There were only a few age-related rules regarding what the children were restricted from doing or how many of them must be together in order to leave the building.

Housefather Frost was in the main room sitting with a couple of children busy writing. The diagrams on the chalkboard showed the adult was helping them with their penmanship. The man looked up at Harry and smiled. "Feeling better, Harry?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry was certain an adult in charge of children shouldn’t be so casual about their charge’s state of mind, but no one ever said the houseparents were exemplary guardians. After meeting Sally, though, Harry preferred the adults he knew over ones he didn’t.

Sally stayed back while Harry went over to the housefather. Moments like this Harry thought it was such a luxury to distrust the houseparents. They were all that was available to the orphans here.

Housefather Frost’s smile started to fall, and Harry realized he took too long to answer. "Yes, I’m... better. I’m-" he coughed lightly, clearing his throat to hopefully sound less like he was sobbing for the past fifteen minutes, "I’m going to talk to Brian now."

The smile returned. "That’s great, Harry, I’m proud of you. Brian’s out in the field with Jason and the others as usual. Go have fun!"

Jason and the others. Right. Harry relayed the information to Sally and breathed a sigh of relief when she set off in a direction outside the orphanage confidently.

Despite living his whole life at the orphanage, Harry only truly recognized a few of the people there. Each day he noticed enough to note someone as familiar or not before placing them in a mental box labeled, “Apathetic Disinterest”. It never occurred to him to even try and remember more than that until one of the houseparents asked him to help find someone for them one day.

He knew Brian had brown hair and always forgot to ask first before taking things from people, not just Harry. The houseparents were the houseparents, the only adults at the orphanage. Andrew only had one arm. Ruby hated being wrong almost as much as Harry hated people taking what was his. Sally and Saphyr were the only ones Harry could remember and describe out loud in vivid detail without being right next to them.

Harry followed Sally past the orphanage’s vegetable garden and lemon trees, past a wall of hedges, and over to a wide-open field bordered by a few sloping hills. Some of the island’s locals were out walking their dogs, one family was having a picnic on the side of a hill, and in the middle of the flattest area of the field was a group of children kicking a ball between two large baskets on their sides.

The group saw them approaching and called out greetings to Sally. With a jolt, Harry understood this must be where the blonde girl traipsed off to on days when Harry stayed indoors to read during Free Time instead of wandering around with Sally. A bundle of sharp hot jealousy and ice-cold guilt started to grip Harry’s heart when Sally laughed joyfully and waved back at the group of orphans.

Harry latched onto the sound in his mind and took a few deep breaths. Sally deserved friends. She deserved to have people to hang out with when Harry wanted to be alone. When he first met her, Sally was such a quiet, scared girl. Sally had been at the orphanage for two years now and it was ignorant of him to not know more about how she spent her free time and arrogant to think only he mattered to her.

He looked over at his friend, often surprised by how his mind wandered on tangents in her presence. Before she came to the orphanage, he was constantly aware of everything going on around him. Harry’ s thoughts back then were obsessed with what could set off a Memory Moment and how to avoid that happening.

Was that what a “milestone” was? There was a Before Sally and an After Sally. Harry could tell there was a Before Saphyr and After Saphyr, too.

Sometime during his pondering, Brian walked up to them. The boy ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair and toed the grass with his foot. Harry suddenly felt his face heat up and fought the urge to reach for Sally’s hand.

"Hey, Harry," Brian said, his smile small. "I’m sorry about before."

Harry shook his head. "It was inappropriate of me to yell at you. Grabbing the dictionary back was far from mature as well." Laughter from Brian and a comforting shoulder nudge from Sally helped Harry relax and smile.

"Scared me more than usual," the brown-haired boy joked, then winced when Harry flinched. "Ah, yeah, it’s all my bad there’s a ‘usual’, Harry, no worries. Hey, so, I know you usually like to go run after..." Brian trailed off, and Harry nodded to show he understood. "Well, rather do some fun running?" The boy gestured behind him./p>

Harry froze at the invitation, staring into Brian’s startling bright hazel eyes. The panic from earlier was still buzzing along his limbs and Harry knew exercising would help. The fact Brian noticed and remembered that about Harry was... thoughtful of him.

Playing with the other children, though... What if the Memories didn’t like organized sports? Was there a risk of another Memory Moment?

Sally jumped in, as always understanding Harry’s fears. "That’d be a sight! D’you even know how ta play football, Harry?"

He didn’t deserve such a wonderful and clever friend. Harry took the lifeline she threw out and tried to see if he already knew the rules of the sport or not, eyeing the multi-colored ball and the two baskets out on the field.

The bright feeling of new, of an empty space in his mind eager and ready to learn, filled Harry and he grinned. "No, no I don’t know how to play," he breathed. He smirked at Sally’s answering grin. "Maybe you could finally teach me something for once, Sally."

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the sport. He chose to be on Ruby’s team, correctly guessing she hated losing as much as she hated being wrong, and discovered that she had hazel eyes a few shades darker than Brian’s. Harry learned that even with one arm, Andrew was a fantastic goalie who liked to gloat every time he managed to catch the ball with his hand.

Harry met Jason, a younger orphan with black hair like Harry’s who stuttered but knew how to direct the opposing team like a seasoned captain. He also met Juliana, an older girl who was left at the orphanage only a few days ago and whose flaming red hair caught Harry’s attention in a way he wondered how he never noticed it before.

All throughout dinner Sally and Brian teased Harry for looking over at Juliana so many times. He was both ecstatic and mortified by how juvenile it all was. He knew he hugged Sally all the time but she was Sally. The thought of attempting anything similar with the older redhead was... weird no matter what Sally or Brian seemed to think.

Was this what it felt like to joke around with friends?

Over the next few days, Harry adjusted his routine. Mornings were spent with Saphyr, breakfast with Sally and Brian, then class time. If the football group went to the field, Harry went with them. If not, he stayed indoors reading. After that was lunch, chores or plant-tending, then dinner before bedtime.

Somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for something. Searching, almost.

He checked in on Saphyr and made sure the snake was satisfied with its rock pool. The blue and pearl serpent remained insistent on staying there even after its form grew long and thick enough to fill the small pool.

Nothing else around the orphanage seemed different, either, until the next Science Day when Sally and Harry were on their hands and knees checking up on their strawberry plants.

Harry felt a headache blooming behind his eyes and groaned.

"Harry," Sally whispered urgently as she glanced around, "Go to the loo and look in the mirror immediately. I’ll say something to the houseparents."

Nodding, Harry kept his face down as he hurried inside to the bathroom. Sally spoke properly that time- something serious was going on and he didn’t doubt the headache was related somehow.

‘ _Where- where am I?’_

A voice called out inside Harry’s head and he stumbled so hard he nearly fell through the bathroom door after slamming into the threshold.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and hissed at the pain in his side from tripping into the bathroom.

"Who are you? Why are you in my head?" Harry asked aloud. The headache gradually began to fade, and Harry locked himself into the bathroom. No need to have anyone come across Harry talking to himself like he was mad.

‘ _Is this… a bathroom?’_ the young, male-sounding voice asked.

Harry gasped, turning to grip the sink with shaking hands. “You can see through my eyes?” His head shot up to look in the mirror, now remembering Sally’s earlier instructions.

There in Harry’s reflection was his unruly black hair, slightly waving in random angles as usual. His mouth and nose were the same as always, his ears as well. A straight, thin scar ran down his face starting above his right eye and down to his cheek through the middle of his eye. The eye was a familiar crimson red, the pupil vertically slit in line with his scar. The black pupil stretched slightly over the red iris.

His left eye, however…

What in the world—!

Where Harry usually saw emerald green was now a deep gold.

Deep in his mind, Harry heard a gasp. ‘ _Are you… Harry?’_

Harry’s blood chilled in his veins as his heart started pounding in his ears. Who was this voice? Was it the source of the Memories? Did Harry somehow wake them up? But then why were they only here now?

“Who. Are. You?” he growled at the mirror.

The voice took Harry’s lack of an answer as a confirmation and actually _squealed_. Not the source of the Memories, then.

‘ _Oh, you’re Harry! I found you! Well, sort of, but hi! It’s Aster! I can’t_ believe _I found you!’_

Harry squinted his eyes at the mirror in confusion. ‘ _Found me…?’_ he thought and was startled when the voice immediately responded.

‘ _You don’t remember me?_ ’ The voice, Aster, sounded so shocked Harry thought he proclaimed to have forgotten his own name.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the mirror, staring into the golden eye now sitting in his face. ‘ _Is it customary for you to demand answers while refusing to offer any in return?’_

‘ _Oh! I’m sorry I got so excited I found you, and then I thought if I remembered you that you would remember me, too… I mean, we_ are _twins, after all—_ ’

‘ _What?_ ’ Harry clutched his head again. Was the room spinning or was that all in his head, too? ‘ _Twins? You’re my brother?_ ’ Family. He had a sibling. A sibling who wasn’t here where Harry grew up. That must mean—No, he would _not_ think about that just yet.

‘ _You didn’t know? That makes sense, though,_ ’ the voice rambled, ‘ _if you don’t remember me, then you wouldn’t know, and no one was there to tell you and—’_

‘ _How are you here?_ Why _are you here? How do I know you’re even telling the truth?_ ’

‘ _Telling the truth?_ ’ Something deep inside Harry hurt at how Aster’s voice cracked around the words. ‘ _Harry, I…_ Merlin _.’_

Harry only got a few moments to wonder what an old man from Arthurian legend had to do with the current situation before Aster spoke again quickly.

‘ _I think I’m waking up. Broom accident. Maybe if I got in another accident, I’ll come back…? I don’t have time to figure that out right now. Harry, I’ll find you. Um, find you for real, not just in your head, promise. I’ll fix_ everything _, and everyone will be happy, I’ll—’_ the voice cut off. With a blink, Harry’s left eye returned to its normal emerald green.

A harsh whooshing sound filled the room and Harry realized it was his own labored breathing echoing in the room. If that really was his brother… his twin, what twist of fate made Aster such a chatterbox? The other boy was clearly not the brightest child purely by the implication that Aster was somehow hurt by a _broom_ severely enough to end up in Harry’s head.

It was only recently that Harry participated in activities that counted falling unconscious among the list of potential risks. He was far from inclined to test the viability of mental teleportation via knockout, though.

Harry was also decidedly not thinking about the circumstances that brought Aster to his mind. How Aster somehow remembered Harry, what sort of childhood Aster had, whether Aster was also an orphan at a different orphanage, if their parents…

Yes, decidedly _not_ thinking about any of that.

A knock on the bathroom door accompanied Housemother Johnson’s voice. “Harry, are you all right? Class time is over now, do you need anything?”

“I’m okay,” he called back, frowning at how shaky his voice sounded. “Can you… can you get Sally?”

“Right here, Harry.” The sound of his friend’s voice was such a relief. Harry unlocked the bathroom door and almost instantly found himself in Sally’s arms.

“You ok?” she whispered.

He shrugged silently in response, honestly unsure of how to answer.

Dimly, Harry was aware of Sally telling Housemother Johnson they were heading outside for Free Time. He should say something to commemorate Sally speaking directly to the older woman for the first time, but his mind was racing, wondering how to even explain to Sally what happened.

Without another word, Harry led Sally towards the Great Bay and the little rock pool in the cliffside there.

He needed to talk to Saphyr. The serpent spoke often of seeing many sights and speaking to numerous humans over its lifetime. Saphyr would know what to do.


	4. A Nest of Pine and Ferns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I originally planned to give both Aster and Harry a section in this chapter. Aster, however, has a mind that just runs and runs and I can't help but follow along. I really shouldn't be surprised. Harry will be back first thing next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for all of the kudos, everyone!

_Aster_

I told Harry I found him and now I never felt so lost.

I woke up in bed wishing I could knock myself out and see Harry again. Godric knew Mum was not going to let me near a broom anytime soon.

It was Dad’s idea, the broom. Mum was against it at first, but Uncle Moony talked her around eventually. It wasn’t even my birthday; Dad just felt like teaching me how to ride a broom all of a sudden.

I bet Mum telling Dad about my ‘hypothetically trauma-based perfect memory’ played a role.

Mum and Dad were obsessed with giving me what they called a “safe and normal childhood”. As normal being stuck inside the wards of an estate with monthly visits to a hospital was normal, anyway.

Whenever Uncle Moony caught up with my parents he never mentioned other kids who were stuck behind their wards. Well, except for that one Neville kid. Most of Mum and Dad’s friends were enrolling their kids in the new primaries for magical children, shopping at the newest shops in Horizont Alley, or going on tours at the creature sanctuary in Merlin’s Wilds.

I was stuck at home. Homeschool by Mum, Dad, and Uncle Moony as if we were those traditionalists Mum complained about whenever she read the Daily Prophet. I’ve never gone on a shopping trip or visited a creature sanctuary.

Mum and Dad cared more about giving me a “safe childhood” than giving me a normal one.

So I jumped at the chance to learn how to ride a broomstick, even though part of me wanted to tell Dad it didn’t matter knowing how to ride a broomstick if I never got to fly with any other kids. The thought of finally doing something risky was exciting.

That’s when it happened.

I tried to listen when Dad said not to go too fast or go too far since I was on a real broom, not a training one, (Mum was afraid of someone tampering with anything Dad went out to buy), but flying was so much fun! I didn’t notice the songbird until I was already speeding toward it and I tried to stop and turn out of the way. I turned the broom and missed the bird but flew right into my home’s wards instead. The front end of the broom and my face smacked loudly against the curved magic dome surrounding my home and jolted me off the broom.

I passed out before I hit the ground. At least, that’s what I _think_ happened.

I fell off the broom and then I was suddenly looking through someone else’s eyes—Harry’s eyes. It was blurry at first, then I saw a toilet, then a door locking, then the eyes turned to the mirror.

Harry was truly my twin, we looked so much alike. He had the same messy black hair, mouth, and nose from Dad. The only differences were his red eye and his straight-line scar, though maybe his other eye was normally green and not gold? Harry seemed surprised when he saw his face.

Tears filled my eyes when I thought back to how my brother looked in that small, dingy bathroom. Harry’s clothes were covered in dirt and so were his hands. His skin seemed tanned and… was that a bruise blossoming on his arm? Was he being worked to the bone outdoors? Did someone hit him?

I remembered seeing Harry lock the door to the bathroom and thanked whatever gave me my perfect memory that I caught that quick moment. Who locks themselves in to the loo? Did Harry not feel safe wherever he was? My brother felt some need to lock himself in and that was not a fun thought.

Harry seemed in more pain than just the bruise on his arm and breathed harshly during most of our talk, too. He was so _angry_ and didn’t even trust that I was telling him the truth! What terrible things happened to make my twin so distrusting of others?

I sobbed aloud and Mum quickly burst into the room to hug me, reminding me that I was back in my own head. “Everything’s all right, Aster honey, you’re safe, I’ve got you,” Mum whispered into my hair, rubbing my back in small circles. “I’m sorry, I should have been here when you woke up.”

I shook my head in Mum’s arms, unwilling to explain the real reason for my tears. Did Mum know? Did she know what would happen after Harry was sent wherever they sent him? Did Dad know? If they knew Harry was suffering and still left him there… or if they didn’t know… but what if they found out Harry was suffering and still thought it was more important to keep Harry away?

I couldn’t stand any of these lines of thought.

The only bright side was remembering they way Harry spoke. He sounded so smart. There was a word he used I didn’t recognize.

I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Harry was the real miracle child, so of course he was smarter than me. His red eye was cool, too! It looked like a dragon’s eye. Or a snake’s eye, but dragons were cooler so it must be a dragon eye.

The thought brought a smile to my face and my tears settled down. Mum’s hand on my back reminded me that I was still in her arms and I wriggled out of her hug.

“Thanks, Mum, I feel better now,” I said, face red from her fussing. I put on my glasses after wiping my eyes. It wasn’t even a big crash! None of my bones broke.

Mum huffed and ruffled my hair. “Well, your Dad is beside himself; as he _should_ be for letting you ride that _accursed twig_ inside the wards!”

“There was a bird, Mum,” I replied, wondering what to say to explain my tears, “I didn’t want to hurt it. It’s not Dad’s fault, I just… never experienced anything like that before.”

“My sweet flower,” Mum said sadly, cupping my face with her hand and running her thumb under my golden eye. My stomach twisted a little realizing she thought I acted heroic; like the Boy-Who-Lived.

My face scrunched up and I reared back. “Ew, Mum! That’s not cool!” I said, knowing better to react to the flower nickname than to what really bothered me.

With a chuckle, Mum got up and idly smoothed out the blankets covering me. “I’ll let your Dad and Uncle Remus know you’re awake,” she said, and left the room.

Looking around, I was glad Mum and Dad were so stubborn about keeping me home as much as possible since it meant they didn’t take me to St. Mungo’s after the accident. Out of the corner of my eye one of my clothes drawers caught my attention. The pajamas drawer was slightly open and not how I left it earlier. I checked my outfit, and sure enough I was dressed in the red and gold Gryffindor pajamas, Dad’s favorite set.

I sighed, hoping Mum was there when Dad took out the clothes for me. The Gryffindor set was in the middle of the second stack of clothes in that drawer and Dad never re-folded my clothes when he dug through my drawers. I didn’t like not knowing what clothes were where in my drawers when I usually knew where everything was in my room all the time.

My breath hitched as I looked at my dresser of clothes. Did Harry even have pajamas? Did he only have that one set of dirt-covered clothes? I remembered seeing a couple of sewn-on patches on his shirt. When was the last time Harry owned anything new? Harry didn’t have glasses like I did, either. Was that because he didn’t need them or because no one ever gave him any?

I was right about to start crying again when Dad walked into the room.

“Hey, Fawnster, how’re you holding up?” he asked as he sat where Mum was a short while ago.

I cracked a smile, determined not to cry like a little kid again. “That was crazy, huh, Dad?” From the creases in his brow I could tell Dad was actually really upset about what happened.

As I thought, Dad frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Your mother was right, kiddo, I should’ve been more careful.” Dad always looked so uncomfortable when he apologized. His face scrunched up and his eyes look so sad behind his glasses.

“It’s ok! Now I know to look out for birds, and I’ll remember where the wards are for next time.”

Dad’s face quickly smoothed out as he laughed. “Those were some fast reflexes, Fawnster, it’ll be brilliant when Lily lets me break out the Quidditch gear.” I schooled my face and nodded along as Dad went into his usual ramblings about how great Quidditch was with the added commentary of what positions he thought I would be good for now that he’d seen me on a proper broom.

My thoughts were still focused on Harry, though. How was I going to find Harry? How would I event get to where he was once I found him if I couldn’t get through the wards? How did I hit the wards, anyway? Weren’t they just for keeping things from coming inside?

“Dad?” I asked, and only after speaking up did I realize I interrupted my own father. I never did that. Bugger, what if he realizes something’s wrong? What if he figures out that I’m planning something?

Before I could truly panic, Dad’s shocked face settled into a gentle smile and he ruffled my hair. “What is it, Aster? I’m sorry, you just had your first proper broom accident,” (what did Dad mean by _first…?!_ ) “I should give you time to settle down before diving into all the Quidditch talk.”

“Mum always said I ramble on just like you,” I joked, glad Dad wasn’t mad at me for interrupting. I looked down at my blanket scrunched up tight in my hands. When did I do that? I relaxed my hands and turned back to Dad. “Why _did_ I hit the wards, Dad? Don’t you walk through the wards all the time?”

The answering grimace on Dad’s face made me both happy and worried. Whenever Dad prepared to lie to me or say I “wasn’t old enough to hear the answer yet”, he would grin while his eyebrows bunched up as if his face hurt. Dad’s grimace was the face he wore when he was about to say something Mum was going to yell at him for saying later but actually answered my question.

“The wards are that way to protect you, son,” Dad started, putting his hand on my shoulder. “If you can’t walk out of the wards, no one can carry you out of them either.”

I shivered as I remembered when that almost happened.

_I was five, then, our family newly moved into another house in another neighborhood after reporters discovered our last home. Again. I remembered waddling into the living room, knowing I’d find Mum sitting in the armchair by the window facing the front of the house. She sat there every time Dad left to fight bad people; watching and waiting for him to return home. There was a book in her hands, though by now I knew she never read it as she never turned a page and the book was open to the same spot it was the day before._

_Back then I was curious because Mum seemed more worried than usual, her hands trembling as they clutched her book with white knuckles. “Mummy,” at my small voice her face whipped around towards me, startled away from the window, “when’s Daddy coming home?”_

_“Soon, flower bud, soon.” Mum looked as if she was trying to convince herself more than trying to convince me. “Your father is out trying to find some really_ really _bad people today, so he has to work extra hard and extra long before coming home this time.”_

_My younger self nodded, though at the time I only understood that we needed to wait for a bit longer. I climbed into Mum’s lap, forcing her to put her unread book off to the side and we both stared out the window._

_Out in the night, I saw something move up the street. A lone streetlight lit the area in front of our house, and soon a figure walked to the edge of the light. A hat cast shadows across the being’s face and I, the foolish little five-year-old I was at the time, yelled out, “Daddy’s home!” and ran to the door before Mum could react._

_The moment I stepped out the door, the figure shot forward with inhuman speed and lifted me in the air by my neck. Pure human instinct told me to grab at the hand choking me, trying to get enough room to breathe, my throat desperately trying to scream for help._

_“I’ve done it!” The figure cried out, its hat flying off its head as it cackled madly. Fangs were glistening along its wide grin, skin pale, and face gaunt. My current self knew it was a vampire. My younger self only knew it was a very scary being that was_ not _Dad._

_“I’ve done it,” the vampire repeated, bringing my face closer to his. The cold fingers of the vampire’s free hand roamed over my face as he whispered, “I’ve caught Aster Potter! They say you’re the Boy-Who-Lived, the Miracle Child, the Pure Embodiment of Light… You survived a Killing Curse, so maybe… maybe if I drink your blood, I’ll be free!” As I stared into the eyes of the being that wanted to murder me, I saw a manic gleam there. “I didn’t choose to be a monster!” it yelled hoarsely, shaking me in the air._

_“Relashio! Molliare!”_

_“Stupefy! Incarcifors!”_

_Breath rushed through my lungs as Mum’s and Dad’s spells hit their targets. Mum made the vampire let me go then softened the ground beneath me before I landed. Dad knocked the vampire out before he transfigured the vampire’s hat into a cage to surround the being._

After that Mum grabbed me and took me back inside the house before I saw anything else. I saw enough, though, and I wouldn’t forget. I _couldn’t_ forget. Each time I went over that memory I felt the fear and pain as clearly as the first time. Each time I noticed more details like how the vampire appeared young –maybe only a few years older than I am now— and how deep beneath the manic gleam in his eyes I could see sadness, anger, and desperation.

As I blinked back to the present, I saw the moment when Dad connected the dots between my perfect memory and what he said. The blood drained from Dad’s face and I hurried to make him feel better. “It’s ok, Dad, honest.” My parents babied me enough; I didn’t need Dad running off to tell Mum they needed to be even _more_ careful around me! “You saved me, I’m fine. I’ve been fine this whole time.”

Thankfully, Uncle Moony chose this moment to step in the doorway of my bedroom. “Prongs? Bud? It’s getting late; I’m about to head out.”

Dad shot up off the bed and hugged Uncle Moony, rapidly saying, “Moony! Great! I’m going to go chat with Lily and you can say hi- say goodbye to Fawnster here, and I’ll check in, um, catch up with you in a bit.” He fled from the room.

Uncle Moony raised an eyebrow at me as he conjured a chair to sit in next to my bed. “What spooked him this time?”

I crossed my arms and looked away, grumbling, “He knows I remember the vampire.”

My uncle sighed. “Ah, I see.” Uncle Moony was the one who taught me what a vampire was after I woke up from a nightmare about the attack and wouldn’t talk to Mum or Dad about it. That was when he told me he was a werewolf to stop my younger self from declaring all vampires as evil monsters. Now that I thought about it, Uncle Moony knew I remembered that for a long time now… we talked about the attack in detail more than once…

“Uncle Moony, did you know I remember things really well?” He stiffened and he paused long enough that I got my answer, but it didn’t make sense. “Why didn’t you say anything to Mum and Dad?”

Moments passed and I wondered if Uncle Moony would answer me. After looking me over, he must have seen something in my face since he nodded then took a deep breath. “Aster,” and that was alarming; Uncle Moony rarely called me by my name, “I wish this weren’t the case but you’re a public figure, and… I told you a little bit about it, but I know what that’s like.” I opened my mouth to respond but he raised a hand and stopped me. “I’ll explain more soon, I promise. What I want you to know right now is that I am here for you, Aster, however you need me, and I won’t say anything to your parents if you don’t want me to. I wish you could trust your parents are there for you, too.”

Memories flashed by as if writing a list inside my head of every time I asked Mum or Dad questions and they shrugged me off with a half answer. The most I usually got was that something was “for my protection”, or I overheard Dad telling Mum that “Albus said so” the few times Dad and Mum argued about whatever question I asked. Uncle Moony was the one who _really_ answered my questions. I knew Mum and Dad cared, but they treated me like a little kid still. I was nine! I would be ten in a few months! That’s double digits!

Harry popped back up in my mind. If anyone could help me figure out how the accident brought me to Harry, it would be Uncle Moony. I didn’t want to let any of the grown-ups realize I was looking for Harry, though (just in case they decided to hide him somewhere else), but maybe Uncle Moony knew how I traveled into my brother’s mind.

“Have you ever hit your head before?” I asked, hoping my question didn’t seem too random.

Uncle Moony laughed and said, “Yes, definitely. Back at Hogwarts your dad and I got into so much mischief we got our heads knocked around a time or two.”

“Did you ever go somewhere after? In your head?”

Amber eyes blinked at the question for a second before Uncle Moony asked, “You mean like a dream? I certainly remember having a weird dream after your dad accidentally bumped me into a tree once. Thought I was suddenly on the moon chasing bunnies made of cheese!”

Was my talk with Harry all a dream? No it couldn’t be, I haven’t seen my twin since I was a baby! Could I really just dream him up like that? “In a dream do you ever see people you haven’t seen in a long time?”

“Did you dream about the vampire again? It’s ok if you did, we talked about this. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong or anything like that. It’s normal, bud.”

I shook my head and waved my hands impatiently. “No, nothing like that, just… do you? Ever see people in your dreams like that?”

Uncle Moony narrowed his eyes at me and I was afraid he would keep asking about the vampire. Luckily, he didn’t. “Well, yes, I guess so. I’ve had dreams about some friends from school I haven’t seen in years if that’s what you mean.”

That was not what I wanted to hear. Maybe I _did_ really have a weird dream? But it felt so real! I never even knew about Harry’s red eye either! Was that proof enough? I couldn’t ask about his eye, though, it would be too obvious I was asking about Harry. I couldn’t lie, either, that would be bad and I still need to be the good Boy-Who-Lived; the honest, brave, smart miracle child until I got Harry back. Until the real hero came home.

“When you have dreams with people and they talk to you, can dream people use words you’ve never heard before? Can you learn something new about them?”

The moment Uncle Moony whispered, “That’s not possible,” I was ecstatic. I knew it! My talk with Harry was real. Now I needed to go over my memory of our talk and see if I could pick up any clues on where Harry was or figure out how to hit my head and go see my brother again. I barely noticed when my uncle told me to get some rest and left the room.

It was moments later that the look on Uncle Moony’s face when he left the room flashed through my mind. He was really pale, and his eyes were wide just like when Dad realized I still remembered the vampire attack.

Oh no.

Did I say too much? Did Uncle Moony figure out I was asking about Harry somehow? I jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, wishing with all my heart that my uncle was still in the hallway.

The hallway was dark and empty and my parents’ bedroom door was open across the way, the room just as dark and empty. Down the hall I saw light coming from downstairs and I tiptoed to the top of the stairwell. Over the side of the stairs I saw our fireplace burning brightly, the top of the doorway blocking my view of most of the living room. The legs of Mum, Dad, and Uncle Moony were standing in front of the fire.

Dad was stomping in a way that meant he was yelling but the house was dead silent. Why was now the one time my parents remembered to put up a silencing charm?

I went over to my parents’ room, determined to know what the grown-ups were talking about. My memory served me well as I walked through the pitch-black room easily and made my way to Dad’s bedside table. There next to Dad’s glasses case was his Two-Way Mirror, or more accurately, his improved Multi-Way Mirror. Dad kept calling it a Two-Way Mirror even though Mum figured out how to connect more than two mirrors to each other years ago. Right now only up to seven mirrors could connect to each other, but Mum was determined to find out how to charm all Multi-Way Mirrors to be able to talk to each other like how Muggles used telephones.

Nowadays Dad mainly used his Multi-Way Mirror for his Auror work, but I knew it was still connected to Uncle Moony’s and Mum’s mirrors. Those were the first ones Mum charmed, after all. I also knew that Mum kept her mirror propped up on her desk with all of her Charms research. Keeping the mirror facing the dark room, I whispered Mum’s name to the mirror and hoped no one noticed when Mum’s mirror went from reflecting everything to showing darkness.

The soft crackling of the fireplace came out of the mirror and I resisted the urge to flip the mirror around to see what was going on in the living room. Did the conversation end already? Were my parents coming upstairs soon?

Suddenly, Mum’s voice asked softly, “Is this normal?” Great, they were still talking. What was Mum asking about, though? Why did she sound so worried?

“We’d have to ask Fabian and Gideon,” Uncle Moony’s voice replied, “or Molly—I heard she has twins a few years older than Aster and Harry.” My heart dropped and tears gathered in my eyes hearing Uncle Moony say my brother’s name. I always knew they were keeping Harry a secret from me, but it hurt finally knowing for sure. They knew and they didn’t tell me!

“If this is hurting them, I can’t let this go, James.” Mum’s voice angrily chopping through the air sent a shiver down my spine and froze my tears.

Dad let out a tired sigh. I focused all of my attention on hearing the conversation play out, knowing that when Dad sighed like that after Mum used her angry voice a fierce, fast-paced argument was sure to follow. “You know why I did it, Lily. Albus said—”

“It’s been almost nine years! Isn’t that enough time to tell if Harry will be all right?”

“He won’t be Harry anymore if we—”

“You don’t know that! And that didn’t mean you had to take Harry all the way to the Isles of Scilly!”

“They can’t be near each other!”

“If it’s really that important, can’t Sirius still raise him?”

“I’m not letting that _traitor_ near my son!”

“Harry _is_ our son! You can shove Albus’ _theories_ up your bloody—"

“Lily. Prongs.” I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Uncle Moony finally cut in. Mum and Dad’s love for each other could warm the heart of a Dementor but their arguments could steal a Dementor’s job they were so scary. With a slow deep breath I tried to calm my racing heart so I could hear Uncle Moony’s next words. “Let me reach out to the Prewett twins first and let you know what I find out. If these ‘dreams’ only happen when Aster falls unconscious, we only have to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Maybe that means Harry’s never fallen unconscious before this, too.”

“Okay,” Mum said. “Thank you, Remus.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without you, Moony. Be careful, ok? They can’t find out.”

“Of course, Prongs. I’ve kept Harry’s secret all this time, I can keep it for a while longer.”

The sound of Uncle Moony using the Floo reminded me of where I was, and I quickly turned off the Multi-Way Mirror. I put the mirror back on Dad’s bedside table and hurried over to my room. The flood of information threatened to drown me, but I could replay the entire argument in my mind later. Nothing else mattered in light of the fact that I now knew where Harry was.

The Isles of Scilly.

The sound of Mum’s and Dad’s whispers told me they were coming up the stairs and I quickly burrowed under my covers.

“This hurts me too, Lily, I swear it.” Dad’s voice stopped in the hallway between my parents’ room and mine.

Mum scoffed. “ _You_ chose Albus’ word over your own flesh and blood, James. Never forget that you took that choice from me.”

I heard them move into their bedroom and let out the breath I was holding. Moving quietly, I changed out of the Gryffindor pajamas into dark blue trousers and a black long-sleeve shirt. Darker colors were stealthier, and I didn’t want to go see Harry in pajamas. That would be so uncool. I gathered up some clothes and molded my bed into what I looked like curled up under the covers. Mum took a picture of me sleeping last year in that weird way Dad said all mothers take too many pictures of their kids, so I used that memory to guide me.

Energy buzzed through my body. There was no way I was going to sleep tonight. Mum was mad right now but what if Dad convinced her to keep Harry away? Or even move him somewhere else? Like Mum said, almost nine years passed, and she left Harry out in the Isles of Scilly that entire time. How would I get to him, though? Should I go to Sirius, to Uncle Padfoot?

The thought of Uncle Padfoot tore a hole somewhere inside me and I felt numb and empty. Tonight was the first time anyone mentioned Uncle Padfoot since the attack by the scary man, the same night Dad sent Harry away. The next day the papers were full of wild stories about how I survived the Killing Curse and Dad blamed Uncle Padfoot. I remembered my toddler self crying terribly as Dad yelled to Uncle Moony about Uncle Padfoot spilling my secret to the world as some sort of revenge. Uncle Moony Flooed to Uncle Padfoot’s that day to try and find out the truth but came back without Uncle Padfoot and in tears. It was the only time I ever saw Uncle Moony cry. No one mentioned Uncle Padfoot again and I thought he really was a bad person if it was his fault everyone thought I was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Could he really be a bad person if Mum wanted Uncle Padfoot to raise Harry? That at least meant Uncle Padfoot was better than wherever Harry was now, right? It was so hard to know what to believe right now but I wanted to save Harry. I couldn’t trust Dad or Mum not to just send Harry back if I brought my brother here.

I needed some way to get to the Isles of Scilly, wherever that was anyway, and Uncle Padfoot was also my best chance of getting there. I didn’t know how to Apparate and the bump on my head proved I couldn’t fly out either. Thinking back to Healer Hell days, I figured out the rest of my plan. I might not be able to walk out of the wards but I Flooed to Healer Hell regularly. That was my way out.

The hallway outside my bedroom was silent and dark, and no light spilled from under my parents’ bedroom door. Good. Mum and Dad would hopefully be too busy ignoring each other for the night to hear me sneak out.

I carried my shoes in my hands as I quietly moved down the hall to the staircase. Once at the stairs I wracked my brain for every memory of every squeak I ever made on the stairs to try and avoid every spot. The journey down the stairs felt so slow but I would not be caught tonight. My head was starting to hurt, and it was hard to tell if it was from the bump on the outside of my head or from the strain of combing through so many memories so thoroughly. I needed to keep going. Harry needed me. I could do this.

Eventually I made it to the living room. The fire was out, but Mum was a Charms Mistress who specialized in adding Muggle convenience to the Wizarding World. There was a switch on the top of the mantelpiece next to the jar of Floo powder that set off a small Incendio charm inside the fireplace. I put my shoes on and carried over one of the cushions from the couch so I could reach the mantelpiece. I carefully tipped some Floo powder into my right hand and used my closed fist to flick the switch to light up the fireplace.

Immediately the toes of my right foot felt hot and I stumbled back off the cushion. The corner of the cushion started to darken, and I scrambled to pull the cushion away from the fireplace with my free hand. With a wince I wedged the cushion back onto the couch so that the darkened corner was mostly hidden. For a terrifying moment I thought I made too much noise and my parents would come rushing down the stairs.

There were so many ways this could go wrong. What if Uncle Padfoot changed the name of his home since the last time Uncle Moony went to try and talk to him? What if Uncle Padfoot didn’t listen to me? Did he care about Harry anymore? I shook my head roughly, throwing away the scary thoughts. This had to work. I tossed the Floo powder into the lit fireplace and stepped into the green flames.

I tucked my arms to my sides, closed my eyes, and carefully breathed in through my nose before clearly saying, “Padfoot’s Place!”


	5. The Un/Wanted

_Harry_

It was only when Harry was finally standing in front of the rock pool with Sally at his side that he remembered Saphyr was a snake. A talking snake. It occurred to him that most instances of humans conversing with serpents in fantasy or religious contexts led to the eventual misfortune of either the human who spoke with the animal, others around that human, or simply everyone involved. It also crossed his mind that most people, girls in particular, were believed to be quite frightened of snakes. This situation was practically a breeding ground for fear and panic.

With a sense of pride Harry noticed Sally didn’t even flinch when she noticed Saphyr rise out of the rock pool in a smooth S curve. He wondered if her bravery was forged from surviving her past or a result of her flexible personality. Nothing ever seemed to take her by surprise.

“Is this where you been goin’ in the mornin’?” Sally asked as she examined Saphyr with her eyes, staying out of reach. The snake stared at her just as keenly, staying silent for now.

Harry looked between his two friends with a new feeling filling his chest. He catalogued his symptoms: his heartbeat sped up, his hands trembled, and he had the urge to fidget. He was… nervous, he realized. He wanted these two to like each other and the thought of that not happening scared Harry. Somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind he found the idea fascinating. Most of his thoughts, however, were busy frantically drafting, evaluating, and tossing out various ways to introduce his friends to each other.

In the end, the simple, “Sally, this is Saphyr. _Saphyr, this is Sally_ ,” was all that came out of Harry’s mouth. Wonderful.

The serpent lowered back into a coil, its head only a few inches above the surface of the rock pool. “ _Ah, so this is your Sally,_ ” it hissed.

Sally smirked at him. “You named it? Seems a bit wild for a pet, Harry.”

There were no words Harry thought Sally would understand to convey the sheer disbelief running through him at how rude that statement was. Did she not hear Saphyr speak just now? He saw Sally’s amusement fade into confusion and was about to defend Saphyr’s status as a friend before the snake interrupted.

“ _She cannot understand me, Young Speaker,_ ” Saphyr hissed. “ _When you Speak the Serpent Tongue, all humans hear is soft hissing if they notice at all._ ”

The knowledge settled in Harry’s mind as if returning from a temporary leave of absence. With a bit of internal sarcasm he concluded that of course this was normal for the Memories inside of him. It would have been easier if the Memories let him realize he was hissing and not speaking English every time he spoke to Saphyr, but that was the considerate and convenient thing to do, two concepts foreign to the Memories.

Sally nudged Harry with her shoulder. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Harry. I get it, it’s not a pet.” She turned to Saphyr and nodded to the snake. “Sorry, Saphyr, didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Saphyr didn’t move except to hiss, “ _Amusing, this friend of yours. I wonder if she is insightful or simply accepts the world as she experiences it._ ”

Harry laughed at Sally’s obvious attempt to cut through the tension in the air. “You really should stop repeating the vulgar language Jason says so frequently, Sally.” At least by Saphyr’s reaction it appeared the snake could understand English. That freed Harry from having to translate in both directions. What was he to do now, though?

Where before Harry was concerned about Sally inevitably discovering a talking snake, he now had the option to pretend Saphyr was only a snake, a random animal he found in the wild. He didn’t know what was more worrisome: the thought of trying to explain to Sally how he was able to speak to snakes (the origins of said ability still a mystery to him as well), or the thought of deceiving his first true friend. Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“So why did you want to come out here?” Sally asked, filling in the silence. She leaned against the cliff next to the rock pool. Her face was turned toward Saphyr, her hand slowly approaching the snake. “It doesn’t bite, right?”

Saphyr moved forward, letting the blonde girl run her fingers along its scales. “ _She worries for you, Young Speaker. What circumstance brought you here so late in the day?_ ”

With those words Harry remembered the events in the bathroom. The conversation with the voice named Aster and the golden eye staring out of his face. Instantly he was filled with a medley of emotions and he instinctively reached out to pet Saphyr alongside Sally. Talking with the serpent always made him feel better, and this time was no different. Following the feel of cool, smooth scales under his fingers, Harry felt calm seep into his mind.

“There was a voice,” he began, and he was surprised by how steady his voice sounded. Thinking further, however, what need was there to worry with both Saphyr and Sally there? Harry felt his confidence grow and he summarized the conversation with Aster for Sally in English, trusting Saphyr to let him know if he needed to translate.

Afterwards, Saphyr drew back away from Sally and Harry’s hands and Harry instantly felt the loss. Did something he say upset his reptile friend? “ _My sincere apologies,_ ” the serpent hissed, “ _you should consider this situation with a clear mind, Young Speaker_.” He noted Saphyr’s choice of words to examine later as Sally spoke up.

“If that’s really your brother, then I’m happy for you, Harry,” she said, her hand playing with one end of the blue ribbon wrapped around her face. Sally turned to face the ocean waves, her eyes staring where only her mind’s eye could see. “He didn’t give up on you.”

Harry frowned, torn between pursuing whatever demons lurked in Sally’s mind and letting them go to face his own. “Sally—”

“This bro o’ yours picked a funny way of introducin’ himself.” Her playful quip accompanied eyes bright with moisture and a tight smile. He hated seeing her pain and not knowing where it came from. At the same time he knew she wouldn’t thank him for pressing the issue when she was obviously attempting to keep the conversation focused on him.s

Harry let it go. For now. “Why did he have to introduce himself at all?” he grumbled, feeling his actual nine years of age at how petulant he sounded.

“So you believe him then? That he’s your brother?”

“ _You are certain the voice was your sibling?_ ”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly, and his entire being told him the answer was true. Aster was his brother and his twin; the other half of a pair Harry never knew existed before today but felt so _real_ he was incapable of denying it. “I know he’s my brother—I can feel it. That’s exactly the problem.”

Sally stared at Harry, her one eyebrow scrunching up against her blue ribbon. “You got family lookin’ for ya. Where’s the problem?” She was petting Saphyr again, the serpent seemingly content to let Sally take charge of feeling out Harry’s thoughts. The serpent lowered its blue and pearl coils down into the water but kept its head within reach of the blonde girl’s hand.

“Why hasn’t he been here this entire time?” Why was Harry left alone on this island if Aster was somewhere out there? It was so wonderful when he finally became friends with Sally and Saphyr, but part of what made those friendships wonderful were the years he spent misunderstood, teased, and alone among a whole group of orphan misfits. Years he should have had a brother by his side.

His friend scoffed. “You gonna blame that on him? What’s his name? Aster? If he’s your twin like he says, he woulda been the same age as you when you was tossed off here, yeah? So, he was a baby, same as you back then.”

The logic in Sally’s words pierced through the roiling emotions in Harry and touched someplace deep in his heart. His anger was not directed at Aster, not truly. Inside of him was an emptiness that seemed as if it had been there his whole life. Only, he never knew to look for it until now. Next to the emptiness was the thought that if Aster remembered Harry all along, did Aster always feel this emptiness? Harry’s heart raged at the unfairness of the whole situation.

Who chose to separate them? Why?

Somewhere else in his mind, he berated his feelings. Every orphan at St. Martin’s Orphanage was proof of just how unfair life was for many children, no matter if they deserved it or not.

Harry was in the midst of these thoughts when Saphyr slithered over to him and said, “ _Your choices shape your destiny in the days ahead, not the days passed. The past stays where it is, Young Speaker, and only grows as it consumes the present._ ” The snake wrapped a single coil loosely around Harry’s wrist. “ _Choose to grow as well or be consumed yourself._ ”

As ominous as the words were, Harry was thankful for them. The sharp and painful emotions dulled inside him, and he knew Saphyr was right. Dwelling on what already occurred would amount to choosing to remain upset and there were far better uses of his time. He needed to figure out what to do next with this new information.

Harry’s thoughts froze in their tracks as Sally suddenly hugged him. “You couldn’t control what happened, either,” she said. “You were a baby too.” She paused for a long while after that, the sound of gentle waves the only indication time kept flowing as they stood there. The tight hold of Sally’s arms told Harry she had more to say and eventually she whispered in his ear, “I’m happy you’re getting out of here.”

Harry leaned out of the embrace, placing his hands on Sally’s shoulders, Saphyr letting him go in the process. “What are you talking about, Sally? We don’t even know if Aster knows where I am, much less know if he’ll make it here with any amount of certainty.”

Sally grinned at him. “He’s your twin, o’ course he’ll be smart enough to figure it out.” Her grin faltered for a moment, but she held her smile as she added, “Imma miss you though.”

“I’m not leaving without you!” The words tore themselves from his throat before he finished thinking them. He glanced at Saphyr and hissed, “ _Not without both of you._ ” For the first time in his life, Harry’s emotions fully aligned with the Memories lurking inside him. Nothing would separate him from his friends. He needed them and they were _his_. Too many wished to separate him from what was rightfully owed to him and _he would not stand for it!_

“Bloody hell, Harry!”

A prick of pain swept the rage from his mind and Harry physically shuddered at the abrupt absence of the feeling. He quickly realized multiple things at once: his grip on Sally’s shoulders was tight enough it hurt his own hands, one of Saphyr’s fangs pierced the side of his wrist, and Sally’s hands hovered in the air between them as she stared wide-eyed at the snake.

Immediately he relaxed his hands. “I’m so sorry Sally, are you all right?”

“Me?” Sally’s voice was abnormally high-pitched as her eye flicked between Harry and the serpent still partially embedded in his skin. “Saphyr bit you!”

At that the snake let Harry go, lifting its head from the angled bite. Saphyr rubbed its scales along the small puncture wound as it coiled around Harry’s wrist. “ _Are you yourself again, Young Speaker?_ ”

“ _As if I have any idea who I am, Saphyr_ ,” he hissed back. To Sally he said, “I’m fine. It helped, actually.” He crossed his arms, lifting Saphyr out of the rock pool. The small prick already felt better under the cool scales of his snake friend.

Seeing Harry cradle Saphyr in his arms, Sally visibly relaxed but glanced at the serpent periodically.

“I’m not leaving without you,” Harry repeated, this time with a level voice.

Sally raised her eyebrow at him with a frown. “Whatever you say, Harry,” she said then walked away toward the shore. Harry watched her kick at a few rocks before picking up a shell, turning it in her hands.

From its perch wrapped around Harry’s forearm, Saphyr hissed, “ _You cannot choose if she goes with you, despite your wishes otherwise. You are a Speaker, a special human. Simple members of your species cannot easily exist alongside the special ones._ ” Harry tensed and the serpent quickly added, “ _It is predestined who is special and who is simple, Young Speaker, and I speak not of intelligence_.”

“ _I don’t understand_.”

Saphyr shifted in its place around Harry’s arm. “ _I must confess I assumed you knew of these things already. The special humans I met all knew they were special and shunned the world of the simple humans. The simple humans were always oblivious to the world of the special humans._ ” Somehow this information seemed familiar and yet there were missing details Harry felt himself expecting to hear. Curious, he let Saphyr continue, “ _I never learned when the special ones discovered they were special; all of my previous companions were far older than you. None of my previous companions could Speak, either, not even the special ones. I possessed no means to discuss the subject._ ”

Inside his mind it was as if there was a distant itch he couldn’t reach. Were the Memories connected to this ‘special world’? “ _What makes the special humans special?_ ”

“ _Special humans experience existence differently,_ ” Saphyr replied simply. “ _They sense and access the true depths of the world while the simple humans must struggle to discover or replace that which they do not know they are missing._ ” After a short pause, the serpent ended with, “ _I must concede the simple humans fascinate me far more for their ingenious creations in light of their ignorance._ ”

“ _How are you so certain I am special?_ ”

“ _You hear my true voice and speak the Serpent Tongue. That makes you more special than all other special humans._ ”

While Harry acknowledged that talking to a snake was quite abnormal for the average human, Harry was suspicious of Saphyr’s last comment. It may not come up often, but he knew Saphyr thought snakes above other animals. For all he knew there might be humans with the ability to speak to birds or dogs out in the world of special humans. He looked over at his blonde friend searching for seashells and resisted the thought that Saphyr was right and Sally belonged to a different world than him. “ _What about Sally? You said there were other special humans who couldn’t speak to you, why can’t she be one of them?_ ”

The snake turned its head towards Sally and stared for a moment. “ _Perhaps you can test her senses,_ ” it suggested.

“ _How?_ ”

“ _Simply ask her to describe my scales, Young Speaker. If she can see me as you do, she is special._ ” The serpent flicked its tail in the air, bands of pearly scales offset by bands of deep sapphire scales. “ _Simple humans never perceive the full splendor of my magnificent appearance. Such a shame._ ”

Harry ignored the snake’s display of vanity and approached Sally. The girl was now attempting to skip rocks over the gentle waves, not finding much luck. “Hey Sally,” he called.

With a laugh, Sally splashed water at Harry. “You joinin’ me?”

In the light of the setting sun his friend glowed. Her blonde hair was framed by a red-orange sky; her face bright with one of her rare wide smiles. He bit back the question on the tip of his tongue and smiled back. “You can’t swim and it’s getting late. Let’s go back before you get sick.” It didn’t matter if Sally was a special human or not. She was special to Harry and that’s all that mattered. The world already rejected them once before; he was perfectly willing to reject the world in return before he would leave Sally behind.

It was when they started the trek back to the orphanage that Sally noticed Saphyr was still coiled around Harry’s arm. “You bringin’ Saphyr back with us?”

“I need both of you with me,” was Harry’s short reply. Thankfully Saphyr did not argue and slithered up Harry’s arm to hide under his shirt. The serpent was long enough to wrap around Harry’s chest once and have its head peek out along the collar of Harry’s shirt.

When the orphanage came into view Saphyr finally spoke up. “ _Are you sure about this, Young Speaker?_ ”

Harry reached up and pet Saphyr’s head. “ _No one will take you from me, Saphyr, I promise. Whatever happened to you that inspires this fear, I won’t let it happen again_.” Having both Saphyr and Sally by his side inspired a strength within him. He felt fearless and protective. Saphyr ducked down under Harry’s shirt without another word.

They made it back in time for chores. Harry made sure to be part of the group that mopped the bedroom floors so he could sneak one of the extra buckets from the supply closet to keep under his bed for Saphyr. When the chores were done and the rest of his chore group headed to the main room for dinner, Harry brought his borrowed bucket to the bathroom to fill it with fresh, clean water.

“ _Is tap water sufficient?_ ” he asked.

Saphyr’s muffled hiss replied, “ _Yes it’s fine._ ”

Harry was struggling to carry the now-full bucket back to his bed without anyone noticing when Brian suddenly stepped up and gave Harry a hand.

Something must have shown on Harry’s face as Brian quickly said, “Don’t worry.” He gave Harry a wink. “This for a prank or something? It’s about time you broke a rule around here.”

Sally was waiting for them in the bedroom, sitting on her bunk above Harry’s. There were two rooms with bunk beds at the orphanage but more boys than girls, forcing some of the boys to room with the girls. Harry was moved to the mixed room after the fifth morning the houseparents found Sally asleep next to Harry, her face covered in dried tear tracks.

The blonde jumped off the bunk. “You invite yourself over?” she said to Brian.

“Aw, was this your idea?” Brian shot back, helping Harry put the bucket on the ground without spilling the water. “I was hoping Harry here finally found his naughty side!”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” Sally replied, her mouth scrunching up into a lopsided frown.

Harry ignored the rest of the bantering between the two, moving the bucket so it was partially hidden between his bed and the wall. It was good that his and Sally’s bunk was in the corner of the room. Saphyr slithered down Harry’s arm and slid into the water, the bucket deep enough that the serpent was able to fully submerge itself. If Saphyr grew any longer, however, Harry suspected he’d need to find an actual tank for the snake.

“Hey, I’ve seen one of those before!” Harry flinched at Brian’s loud comment right next to his ear.

Sally flopped onto Harry’s bed, peering over the side to look into the bucket. “You’ve seen a snake like _this_ before? Really?”

The brown-haired boy nodded. “It’s in that book about the ocean I’ve been reading for class. A banded sea krait: it’s called ‘banded’ because of the black stripes it’s got.”

A jolt of energy shot through Harry at Brian’s words and his heart started pounding in his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Sally react and time seemed to slow around him as Sally opened her mouth to speak. This was it. This was the moment that would prove whether his dear friend was a special human or a simple one, whether Sally was like him or not. Should he interrupt her?

Over Harry’s head, Sally punched Brian in the shoulder. “I can see that snake as well as you even with just one eye, you berk,” she began, and Harry couldn’t breathe, his hands started to shake; he wouldn’t leave Sally behind even if she wasn’t special but he wanted so badly for—

“—but those stripes ain’t black.”

“I mean, it’s got blue in there too,” Brian offered in a bewildered tone.

The two argued further but all Harry could hear was Sally’s voice repeating, “Those stripes ain’t black,” over and over in his mind. She was special. Part of him couldn’t believe his luck while a deeper part, somewhere he suspected the Memories lurked, felt proud and smug. Of course his closest friends were special. It was only right for Sally and Saphyr to be special, same as him.

Brian let out a frustrated sound and Harry quickly jumped into the conversation. “It’s probably just dark in here,” he said, turning toward the other boy. Behind his back he grabbed Sally’s wrist and squeezed, hoping she would understand as he added, “Its scales shine in the sun and makes it look like its got rainbows on it.”

Sally stayed silent while Brian frowned, thinking over the new information.

Harry stood, gently tugging Sally out of the bed to stand with him. “Come on, it’s time for dinner.” He hissed a quiet goodbye to Saphyr, confident in the snake’s safety. None of the other orphans snooped around his belongings, fully aware of the risk of an outburst from Harry. Only Brian was that stubbornly foolish and the brown-haired boy liked the idea of Harry willingly breaking a rule too much to tattle to the houseparents about the serpent’s presence.

Dinner would have been just like any other dinner if not for Sally’s mood. His friend kept tugging on one of her pigtails throughout the meal and was uncharacteristically quiet the entire time. Harry was uncomfortably grateful for the girl’s distrust of the houseparents for the adults generally let Harry take care of Sally instead of interfering.

Brian tried to apologize halfway through dinner, thinking it was his fault, but Sally shook her head at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her after dinner,” Harry whispered to Brian, knowing Sally was more nervous than upset about something. Nervous about what, he had no idea, and that thought worried him more than if Sally was upset.

Later that evening, Sally sat with Harry on his bed, a nearby window shining soft moonlight into the room. Harry held off on asking if she was okay, knowing it was better to let Sally speak first when she was nervous. Saphyr was on the bed in between them, lightly sparkling in the moonlight. The snake moved its head toward Sally yet kept back and let her close the distance to pet its head.

Sally pet the serpent in silence for a short while, her body slowly releasing its pent up nerves and eventually her mouth formed a small smile. “Saphyr is beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Harry agreed.

“Is Saphyr a girl or boy snake?”

Harry thought for a moment, realizing he never asked the snake its gender.

“ _I exist as I am_ ,” the snake in question hissed as it tucked its head back into its coiled body, likely at the end of its tolerance for petting. It never let Harry handle it for too long, even after months of morning conversation. “ _My species does not reproduce; gender is thus unnecessary._ ” That brought up the question of how Saphyr even came into existence in the first place, but now was not the time for such questions.

“Saphyr is Saphyr,” Harry said to Sally, hoping that was enough.

She nodded, still looking at Saphyr and not at Harry. “Those stripes aren’t black, are they?”

“No, they’re not.”

Sally nodded again at Harry’s words, her hands fidgeting with the blanket underneath her. She was silent for a long time, and Harry was impressed yet again by how his friend seemed to accept the world around her so easily. There was no panic on her face, no anger or confusion, either. Her hands shook, though, and she gripped the blanket tightly when she caught Harry looking at her hands.

He watched as Sally clenched her eyes shut and she took a long, deep breath. He wished he could peer into her mind and see what was going on in there, but knew waiting was the only way to get even a glimpse into her thoughts. After another deep breath Sally reached up and untied her ribbon, the fabric slipping off her face in a bundle of soft blue fabric.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Sally never took off her ribbon in front of others, not even him, not even after two years of friendship.

Sally stared at the ribbon in her hands then lifted her face to look Harry straight on, a crater of burn scars where her right eye should be. The scars spread outside the area showing how the flames that burned out her eye flew up toward her hairline and slightly down toward her cheek. In the pale moonlight shadows hugged the ridges of the scars and filled part of the hollow in her face with darkness.

Sally’s mismatched gazed pierced Harry’s own asymmetric eyes and she whispered, “We’re different, aren’t we Harry?”

“Yes, we are.”

They both knew he meant more than their looks, more than the ability to see Saphyr’s true blue-and-pearl appearance, even if they didn’t know the full extent of how ‘different’ they truly were from others around them.

With her eye as deep a blue as Saphyr’s scales, Sally searched Harry’s face then smiled. “Thanks for tellin’ me the truth.”

Harry smiled back, knowing by her slang that everything was good between them. He couldn’t help checking, however, as they finally got ready to go to sleep. “You sure you’re ok?”

Sally paused on the bunk bed’s ladder, almost hugging the planks of wood. “D’you think it’s bad… to be different?”

“You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Sally,” he replied, placing his left hand on Sally’s right cheek. His thumb caressed the burn scars that ended at the crest of her cheek bone and he maintained eye contact with her unwaveringly. “You’re a good person. We didn’t choose to be different.”

Tears gathered in Sally’s left eye; her right side frozen wide open in its unblinking emptiness. Her hand held Harry’s in place on her cheek as she said, “We gotta choose to be good, then.” A flurry of emotions passed through him at these words, unsure how to react. Some of his internal conflict must have shown on his face as Sally continued, “People don’t like it when you’re different and they’ll say you’re bad, even if you think you’re not. You been livin’ on this island your whole life, Harry, so you prob’ly don’t know.” She glanced at the room behind her, then said, “Maybe you do. It’s how most of these kids got here.”

Harry watched Sally climb up the rest of the way to her bunk, thinking over her words. Saphyr, still coiled in the middle of the bed, poked its head into the air and hissed, “ _Sally speaks wisely, Young Speaker. Both simple and special humans fail to appreciate what they do not understand._ ”

He helped his serpent friend into the bucket of water then slid under his covers, mind focused on both of his friends’ words. He thought of the orphans who used to tease him when they saw a kid their age using words they did not understand, or preferring hobbies different from any other kid their age. As he drifted to sleep, other thoughts and memories drifted to the surface of his mind.

_A large green snake shot forward toward a girl only to hit the body of a boy instead, the angle of the boy’s body showing the boy jumped out in front of the girl._

_He didn’t understand._

_Why were they so obsessed with each other that they would lose everything for each other? Even one’s life?_

_What worth was there in such sacrifice?_

_Why didn’t he feel it?_

_No, he didn’t need to understand; didn’t need such feelings._

_Weakness. It must be. They were weak and he was strong._

_All that mattered was his survival._

_Everyone else was worthless._

_The snake slithered toward the crying girl now backed into a corner._

_No… wait! He_ did _understand._

_People protected each other because they_ cared _about each other, cared about their_ friends _._

_The girl looked over toward him and cried out. Her face suddenly looked so much like Sally’s: blonde hair spilling down around her face, wayward strands sticking to her tear-stained cheeks._

_No! He needed her! More than that, she didn’t deserve this!_

_The snake reared up, and its sharp fangs glistened with venom._

_Why was this happening? He didn’t want this!_

_“HARRY! Wake up, child!”_

With a gasping breath Harry jolted awake, Saphyr’s full body coiled on his chest. The snake’s head was at the side of Harry’s face and with a wince, he realized the snake bit his ear lobe. Off to the side, Sally was kneeling at the side of his bed, one of her hands clutched in a death grip by Harry. The sight of her loose blonde hair framing her face full of tears overlapped with the image from his dream. In an instant he brought her up into the bed in a hug, Saphyr luckily slipping out of the way in time.

Harry hugged Sally a little bit tighter, feeling the beat of both of their hearts pounding in their chests. She was here, she was alive, and inside he swore to never forget this fear. He would never forget the utter panic that gripped his heart at the thought of losing Sally. That fear meant he knew how important she was to him and how much he cared about her.

“I’m supposed ta be the one wit da nightmares,” Sally joked, and both children shook with tears and silent laughter as the tension eased around them.

“I get to have a turn sometimes,” he replied then cringed, wondering how Sally made it seem so easy to make jokes. They wiped the tears off their faces with Harry’s blanket and Sally was about to speak when Saphyr reared up between them.

“ _Young Speaker, something approaches._ ”

Just then, bright lights beamed into the bedroom window before panning off to the side. A low rumbling noise hummed through the air as Harry and Sally moved over to peer through the window.

Harry’s red and green eyes widened at the silhouette that moved from the sky to land in the yard outside. “Is that a… flying motorbike?”


End file.
